Chapter 7
SADIE
The days blurred into a routine. Mornings at the Holbrook Aviation office, handling the minimum required to keep production moving, while avoiding Patrick like the plague, and afternoons and evenings buried in the aviation museum’s hangar.
I wanted to spend my time working on the Tin Goose.
That was where I wanted to direct my attention.
I knew it couldn’t replace the life I thought I had, but it helped to keep my mind busy as the turmoil swirled in the background.
However, even spending my evenings at the museum, there was always another obligation needing to be met.
There were ticket sales to track and fundraising efforts that needed to be overseen.
There were phone calls that had to be taken, staff that required direction, and volunteer meetings where I had to put on my best professional face.
It didn’t help that Patrick was relentless. Every morning, he’d try to catch me in the break room or at my desk with another heartfelt apology. Today was no different.
I heard his voice the moment I stepped out of the elevator: “Sadie, wait. Can we talk? Please? Just five minutes.”
I had grown accustomed to the way the polished marble of Holbrook’s executive wing would make my footsteps echo like a drumbeat of resolve as I moved through the halls.
It had become my soundtrack, the rhythm I marched to every morning now.
His voice behind me used to make me slow down, hesitate.
Not anymore. I kept moving, eyes forward, pretending not to hear him.
Patrick sped up, catching up with me outside my office door. His breath came a little quicker as he placed a hand lightly on my arm. “Sadie. Please, I just want to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let things go so far. I swear.”
I stopped, my body tensing at the contact.
I hadn’t been touched by anyone in weeks, not in a way that mattered, and the feel of his hand on my skin, even through my suit jacket, stirred a confusing mix of longing and resentment.
Slowly, I turned my head, meeting his gaze with what I hoped was an expression of indifference.
But it was harder than I’d thought it would be.
Standing this close, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a memory I wasn’t ready to revisit, made my resolve waver.
My throat tightened as I searched for the right words.
Words that had become a rehearsed mantra I recited every day like a shield.
“Patrick.” I forced my voice to remain steady. “I need you to respect my space. I can’t... I can’t talk to you yet.” It sounded colder than I meant, but the alternative was breaking down in the middle of the corridor, and I wasn’t about to give him, or anyone, the satisfaction of seeing my cracks.
His face fell, the gray eyes that once made me feel safe now clouded with guilt. “I just want to fix this,” he whispered. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You know what you have to do if that’s what you really want.” I pulled my arm away, the motion sharper than necessary, but I couldn’t stop the hurt from rising to the surface. “I’ve already told you.”
With that, I opened the door and stepped inside my office, closing it behind me firmly, cutting off his last words that I didn’t want to hear.
I leaned against the door, taking deep, slow breaths, trying to steady the emotions swirling inside me.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself the luxury of missing him.
I missed his laugh, the way he used to wrap me up in his arms, making everything feel like it was going to be okay.
I missed the late-night conversations about nothing, his ability to make me feel like I was the only person in the world when we were together.
But then reality settled in, heavy and unforgiving.
None of that mattered when the core of who I was—my work, my passion, my legacy—had been treated as secondary.
No amount of romantic gestures could undo the way he’d dismissed my concerns, allowed Alyssa to paint me as emotional or overly sensitive, and ultimately sided with her version of events over mine.
I pushed away from the door and went to my desk, focusing on the engineering blueprints spread out before me.
Work. I always had work to fall back on.
It was the one constant in my life, the one thing no one could take from me.
And right now, I clung to it like a lifeline.
The rest would have to wait, including whatever Patrick thought his next grand gesture might be.
The hours ticked by, filled with the mechanical hum of production reports, the quiet scratching of my pen as I marked up diagrams. Before I knew it, lunchtime had come and gone, and my stomach was reminding me that I couldn’t live on coffee and stubbornness forever.
I packed up the files I was working on, locked up my office, and slipped out through the back entrance, avoiding any more encounters with Patrick or his apologetic looks.
By the time I made it to the museum, the day was well underway.
The familiar smell of jet fuel and polished wood welcomed me as I walked through the main exhibit hall, the space bustling with summer visitors.
School groups, aviation enthusiasts, and curious tourists wandered among the planes, their voices filling the cavernous space with an energy that was both chaotic and comforting.
I paused briefly near the restored Sopwith Camel, watching a guide explain its role in early aerial warfare to a group of attentive children, their wide eyes reflecting the same awe I had felt when I first stepped into a museum just like this as a girl.
That was the kind of magic I wanted to protect, the spark of curiosity that I had poured so much of myself into maintaining here.
This museum was my legacy as much as the Eco-Turbine was.
Maybe even more so. And despite the funding setbacks, I had vowed to keep that spark alive, no matter what it took.
I made my way to the back, past the “Aviation Through the Decades” exhibit, and into the restoration area where Ellen was hunched over the P-38’s engine, her hands deep in the mechanical guts of the aircraft.
She looked up as I approached, wiping oil from her brow with the back of her glove, leaving a smudge across her forehead that she didn’t seem to notice.
“Hey,” she greeted, her voice muffled slightly by the engine block between us.
“Didn’t expect to see you here this afternoon.
Figured you’d be holed up with your spreadsheets and schematics at Holbrook.
” There was no judgment in her tone, just a casual observation that made me feel more normal than I had all morning.
I leaned against the workbench nearby, feeling the worn wood digging into my lower back as I sighed. “I needed a break. Patrick’s been relentless.”
Ellen nodded, her eyes understanding even though she didn’t press for more details. “Ah, that kind of day. Well, the P-38’s almost ready for final testing. I could use an extra set of hands if you want to work on something that doesn’t require a PowerPoint presentation.”
The offer made me smile genuinely, probably for the first time that day. I loved my corporate role, but nothing compared to the visceral satisfaction of turning wrenches and bringing a machine back to life with your own two hands. “I’d like that.”
As I changed into a pair of overalls kept in my locker, the familiar weight of the tools in my belt brought me a sense of peace I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
There was something grounding about being surrounded by grease and metal, about the tangible results of labor and expertise rather than the endless, abstract discussions of corporate strategy and market positioning that had come to dominate my mornings.
By the time I knelt beside Ellen and peered into the engine compartment, my mind had begun to quiet, the noise from my personal life fading into the background.
“You okay?” Ellen asked softly as we worked in sync, each movement fluid and familiar from the countless projects we had completed together over the years.
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’ll be fine. Just working through some things.” I focused on the carburetor I was adjusting, the precise movements calming my racing thoughts.
“Marriage troubles?” she guessed, not unkindly.
A surprised laugh escaped me. “Is it that obvious?”
She shot me a wry smile. “You’ve got that look. The ‘I’d rather be anywhere else’ vibe. I’ve seen it before. Had it myself, actually.”
I looked over at her, curious. “You were married?”
“Twice,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“First time right out of college, thought I had it all figured out. Second time... Well, let’s just say I learned the hard way that being someone’s backup plan isn’t the same as being someone’s partner.
” She adjusted a hose with practiced efficiency before continuing.
“My ex-husband was a lot like yours, I imagine. Smart, driven, good at making everyone think he was the hero. But when it came down to it, he never really saw me. Just saw what I could do for him.”
Her words hit a little too close to home. I tightened a bolt harder than necessary, the metal wrench digging into my palm. “How did you know? When it was time to leave?”
Ellen was quiet for a moment, her attention seemingly focused on the engine before she finally spoke.
“It wasn’t one big thing. It was all the little things adding up until I realized I was constantly shrinking myself to fit into the space he left for me.
The moment I understood that I had become an afterthought in my own life, I was done.
Hurt like hell, but I couldn’t live like that anymore. ”
The weight of her story settled between us, and I felt a knot form in my chest. “That’s exactly how I feel.” My voice was softer now, more vulnerable than I’d intended.