Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Christine
My phone lights up again with another message.
I pinch myself mentally from opening it. I don’t need to. I already know who it’s from.
Robert has been sending me messages even after I didn’t show up last Monday. It’s Wednesday now, more than a week later, and he’s still trying to meet and talk.
I flip the phone face down on the desk and keep moving.
The office smells faintly of fabric and paper and something citrus from the cleaner we used earlier. It’s small, but it works. Shelves are lined with labeled boxes, mood boards are stacked against the wall, and samples are folded and arranged.
This is mine.
I move around the space, gathering what needs to be packed up, closing files, sliding folders into their places, straightening things that don’t need straightening just to keep my hands busy.
Because stopping means thinking.
And thinking circles back to Robert.
“Okay,” Tati’s voice cuts in from behind me, already in work mode like she hasn’t been on her feet all day. “Before you run off, quick update.”
I glance at her over my shoulder, already reaching for my bag.
Tati isn’t just staff. She’s my right hand. The one who keeps things moving when I’m pulled in ten different directions. The one who knows which client matters, which doesn’t, which one is about to become a problem before they even say it out loud.
If I’m not here, she is.
And things still run.
“Make it quick,” I throw, slipping a folder into my bag.
“Sure.” She nods, flipping open her tablet. “We’ve got three new inquiries. Two are standard, corporate dinners, nothing complicated. I already flagged them green.”
“Good.”
“The third one…” she hesitates, just slightly, and that’s enough to make me look at her properly now.
“Say it.”
“He came recommended,” she starts, watching me as she speaks. “High budget, and wants something… big. Private but loud, if that makes sense.”
It doesn’t.
But I know what she means.
“Who recommended him?” I ask, even though I already suspect the answer.
“Daniel.” She clears her throat, wincing.
“No.”
“Just like that?” Tati blinks.
“Yes.”
“He’s offering double our usual rate,” she adds, like that might change my stance.
“Tati, I said no.”
“That’s not like you.” She studies me now, her brows pulling together slightly, not challenging, but… trying to understand. “You don’t turn down clients like this. Especially not referrals at that level.”
“I’m turning this one down.”
“Because of Daniel?” She exhales, shifting her weight slightly, still holding the tablet but no longer looking at it. “Christine…”
“Handle the other two,” I cut in, zipping my bag. “Confirm dates, send proposals. This one, decline politely.”
She watches me for a second longer.
“Okay.” She nods.
But she doesn’t move.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” She asks.
“No.” I shake my head, throwing my bag over one shoulder.
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“I’m not trying to convince you.” I shrug.
“Rude.” She shoots back, pretending to be offended. “Okay, but…” She sighs lightly, closing the tablet. “Keep me updated if anything changes.”
“Not sure there’s anything to update on the subject.” I head for the door, grabbing my keys as I go, already halfway out before she speaks again.
“You sure this isn’t going to come back around?” She calls after me.
I stop, turning to look at her.
“I’m not sure, Tati.” I exhale deeply, my shoulder slacking with it.
I leave.
As soon as I step outside the building, the evening air drags over my skin from different directions.
The street is winding down, the noise thinning, making it easier to move through without thinking too much.
I walk to the van, my heels clicking against the pavement, the familiar tension stiffening my shoulders now that I’ve stopped moving long enough to feel it.
I unlock it, sliding into the driver’s seat, tossing my bag onto the passenger side before I reach for the ignition.
My phone buzzes and I glance at it this time. It’s Daniel with another unknown number since I’ve blocked the last three.
: You’re starting to get very comfortable saying no to me.
My fingers still on the steering wheel.
Another message comes in before I can decide whether to respond.
: Don’t forget how persistent I can get when I want something.
My stomach folds, irritation swirling with unease.
: Don’t make me act, Babe.
I stare at the screen for a second longer than I should. I lock it, drop the phone into the cup holder, and start the engine.
I’m not doing this with him.
The drive home passes in pieces.
Streetlights blur into each other, headlights flash and disappear, but none of it sticks.
My hands stay firm on the wheel, my eyes on the road, my mind somewhere else entirely… Occupied by things I’m not ready to touch yet. By names I’m not ready to say out loud again.
I pull into the compound and cut the engine, sitting there for a second longer than necessary, the quiet hovering around me like it’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.
Then I grab my bag and step out.
The house is already alive with the soft kind of noise that feels lived in, when I walk in. A cartoon voice spills from the sitting room, repetitive, and paired with the occasional rustle of movement and the faint, unmistakable smell of popcorn.
“Mommy!” Blue’s voice rings out, before I even make it past the doorway, but she doesn’t run to me.
She stays right where she is, perched on the couch, legs tucked under her, eyes glued to the TV like she’s torn between me and whatever is happening on screen.
“Welcome!” She adds loudly, like it’s an announcement she’s been waiting all day to make.
Despite everything, my lips twitch.
Aisha glances back at me from beside her, one leg folded under her, a bowl of popcorn balanced carelessly in her lap. She’s relaxed, comfortable in her comfort Pajamas.
“Hey.” Her eyes scan me, and they linger.
“Hey,” I reply, dropping my keys onto the console, my voice bright enough to pass. “Baby how was your day?” I comb through Blue’s hair.
“Great, Mommy.” She waves at me without looking away from the screen.
I slush past them.
The kitchen light flicks on as I step in, the space cooler, the air different from the warmth of the sitting room.
I set my bag down on the counter, exhaling slowly as I move toward the sink, turning on the tap just to hear something else besides my own thoughts.
Water rushes out, the sound soothing in a way nothing else has all day. I brace my hands against the edge of the counter, letting my head dip slightly as the sound fills the space.
Familiar footsteps follow a second later.
“One of those crazy days?” Aisha asks, leaning against the doorway like she already knows the answer and just wants to hear how dramatic it was.
I reach for a glass, I fill it with water, lift it to my lips, and take a slow sip.
“One of those days,” I confirm dryly, setting the glass down on the counter.
She nods, accepting it immediately.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She tilts her head slightly, “Or do we skip the emotional labor and go straight to adult wine?”
“Wine.” I don’t even think about it.
“Good girl,” she mutters, pushing off the doorframe. “Fast decision making. Aren't you the poster girl for corporate women?”
I almost smile. Almost.
She watches me for a second longer, then squints slightly.
“Wait… this isn’t normal crazy. This is…” she gestures vaguely, “…your face is doing something.”
“My face is always doing something.” I roll my eyes.
“Not like this,” she counters. “This one looks different."
“It’s Robert.” That pulls a breath out of me. “And Daniel.” I add.
She freezes for a beat.
“Oh, fantastic,” she deadpans. “The Avengers of bad decisions.”
I huff out a quiet laugh despite myself, shaking my head.
“Please. At least, the Avengers save people.”
“Fair,” she nods. “These ones just show up to ruin your peace and siphon your emotional stability.”
“That part.” I nod.
She studies me again, softer now, but still not pushing.
“Do I need to be worried,” she asks, “Or just annoyed on your behalf?”
“Both,” I answer simply.
“Ugh. Men.” She exhales.
“Specifically those two.”
“Even worse.” I heaves like she's about to throw up.
I laugh, soaking in the brief relief that comes with having her in my life.
“Alright,” she claps her hands once, like she’s done allowing seriousness for the night. “Enough with the mopping. You’ve suffered, you've survived, and now, you deserve nonsense.”
I glance at her.
“Nonsense?”
“Yes,” she nods firmly. “Come and watch Cocomelon with us.”
“I don’t think I deserve that much punishment.”
“Excuse you,” she gasps. “That show is elite.”
“Lies.”
“I had a nightmare yesterday,” she continues, already walking away, “That I kissed a giant Cocomelon head.”
I blink.
“…what?”
“Full lips,” she adds over her shoulder. “Like this…” She puckers dramatically.
“You need help.”
“I needed therapy,” she corrects. “But now I have Blue and snacks, so we move.”
That pulls another laugh out of me.
“Lucky us.” I press my lips together, drawing in a slow breath, then another, hushing the noise in my head.
“Come on,” she waves.
I shake my head, pushing off the counter.
The thoughts ifRobert. Daniel. Everything.
But for now, they can wait.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I call after her.
I exhale again, slower this time, my shoulders dropping just slightly as I push off the counter, choosing instead to spend the night on the couch with my two favorite people.
The doorbell chimes as I step out of the kitchen.
I pause mid-step, my fingers curling slightly like I’m bracing up for impact.
It rings again.
“Got it,” I call out, my voice carrying into the sitting room before I even think about it. “Keep watching.”
Aisha glances back at me from the couch, one brow lifting slightly.
“You order food?” I ask, already walking past them, wiping my hands absently on my skirt.
Blue lights up instantly.
“Pizza.” She squeals, bouncing in place, her whole body catching the excitement like it’s contagious. “Pizza, pizza, pizza!” she sings, already dancing like the delivery is a guarantee.
Aisha snorts.
“No, baby.” She reaches out to steady her before she spins herself off the couch. “Nobody ordered pizza.”
Blue freezes, her face drops, the excitement draining so fast it almost makes me laugh.
“Oh.” She frowns, pouting.
Aisha pulls her in, pressing a quick kiss to her head, smoothing her hair back.
“We’ll get pizza another day,” she murmurs, easy, like she knows exactly how to fix it.
“Okay.” Blue nods slowly, still a little deflated, but already turning back to the TV as the cartoon pulls her attention in again.
Aisha leans back into the couch like nothing just happened. I walk toward the door.
Because it’s probably something small, it usually is.
The old neighbor maybe, the one who’s always losing that strange fox of hers and somehow believes I’m the one who’ll find it.
I reach for the handle, already half-expecting to see her standing there, apologetic, a little frantic, explaining how it slipped out again.
I pull the door open.
And everything inside me slams to a halt.
It’s not her.
It’s Robert.