9. Anouk
Anouk
He thinks I’m not client-ready? Well, I’ll show him.
I practice the presentation with Finn three times until he threatens to confiscate my laptop and tuck me into bed. I rehearse in front of the mirror. I use all the grounding techniques my therapist drilled into me.
I have never prepared like this before.
I should be ready.
I am ready.
But the minute I’m standing at the head of the table in Conference Room 3B—with Erin Wright sitting polished and sharp beside the screen, three analysts at the back, and Vijay giving me an encouraging nod—the room tilts.
Breathing becomes difficult.
My tongue becomes thick as clay.
It’s not fair.
I know this model better than anyone. I built it. I understand every cell of every sheet. But knowledge is useless when your own mouth is a locked door.
“G-Go-Good morning,” I start.
A couple of glances trade across the table.
I click to the first slide.
“The—th—the m-model shows a sig—significant dr—drop in base-base—”
Erin clears her throat dramatically.
“Oh boy,” she mutters under her breath, but loud enough that half the room hears.
Heat rushes to my face, like I’ve been caught doing something I can’t defend.
Vijay shoots Erin a look, sharp and annoyed. She ignores it, crossing her legs with that smooth, predatory grace she has.
At least Luther isn’t here, so that’s a saving grace. Right?
I grip the edges of the podium.
Focus, Anouk.
Breathe.
Say the words.
“S-s-significant dr-drop in base-base li-liability if we—”
“Maybe let’s switch to the numbers,” Erin says sweetly. “She’s better with those.”
Laughter.
My ears ring.
My throat closes.
I stare at the slide, but the numbers blur.
Vijay steps in gently. “The procurement shift creates a net reduction of about 4.7% variance if—”
“No,” I whisper, forcing the sound. “I c-can—can do it.”
How many times do I have to tell him that this is not how he helps me—by making me feel small?
Erin sighs loudly, flipping her hair. “We don’t have all day, Anouk.”
I swallow hard and try again.
“I-if we renegotiate the th-third-tier supplier—”
The word won’t come. I choke on it.
The humiliation hits like a fist.
And then—
The door opens.
Luther strides inside, shirt sleeves rolled, his jeans casual and worn.
He pauses and takes in the scene.
What does he see?
Anouk Starling, stuttering. Again!
Erin, gleaming.
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
I try again, desperate. “Th-the th—”
My throat collapses.
Luther sits slowly, watching me with a blank face that feels worse than anger. Disappointment. And it stabs right through me.
I finish the presentation in a humiliating hybrid—Vijay explaining half the slides, me stumbling through the rest, Erin correcting me even when I’m right.
When it ends, no one claps. No one even looks at me.
Luther stands. “I’ll review the materials,” he says simply.
He leaves, and I stay frozen for a few seconds. Then, slowly, I gather my laptop and papers on autopilot.
Vijay touches my elbow. “You did fine, Anouk. Don’t let Erin—”
“I need to w-work,” I whisper.
He nods, steps back, then tries again, quieter. “I shouldn’t have stepped in like that.”
I swallow, humiliation washing over me. “You f-finished for me.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I thought I was helping, but I wasn’t. I should’ve waited.” His face is a map of suffering and remorse, every line showing it.
I nod. I do understand. Intent isn’t the problem. Impact is.
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve told me before. I didn’t listen well enough.”
“I can h-handle the silence,” I tell him softly. “I just need people to l-let me.”
He meets my eyes. “I will. I promise.”
And I believe him. I do, but it doesn’t change how I feel right now. It doesn’t assuage my pain, my shame.
I go into a privacy room that is used for conference calls and lock the door. My heart is beating fast. I’m having some kind of panic attack layered in with a deep sense of devastation.
I’m not good enough for this job. Maybe I shouldn’t even try. I should just crunch numbers and hide in the darkness like I used to.
Why am I putting myself through this?
Because you want to be seen, Anouk. You don’t want to hide anymore just because you have a stutter.
But the world is so unforgiving. This doesn’t surprise me. I don’t expect grace from a world that turned its back on me and—
My phone rings. I look at the screen and a scream locks in my throat. Not today. I don’t have the energy for this today.
I know this number. Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla.
I answer, “Hello.”
“Is this Miss Anouk Starling?”
I lick my lips. “Yes.”
“Miss Starling, I’m Warden Penn Sansbury.”
I hold the phone tightly in my hand. I’ve been waiting for this call, I think, for my whole life.
“Okay.”
“Your mother…ah Cristina Booth….”
He falls silent then.
“Is she…is she…?” Dead?
“She’s in the hospital,” he says carefully. “The doctor says she doesn’t have a lot of time left. She wants to see you.”
I clear my throat. “What…wh-what’s wrong with her?”
“Pancreatic cancer.”
I take deep breaths as I sit stiffly.
“You’re my daughter, Anouk. Mine. Okay?”
“Mama, don’t hurt Daddy. Mama, please.”
“Anouk, I’m so sorry, but your father is dead. Your mother is going to prison.”
“O-okay. Th-thank you for calling.”
Long pause.
“If you want to see her, please call the Detention Center, and we can make it happen. Since she’s at the end of life, we can make exceptions with regards to visiting hours.”
He sounds all official and sympathetic.
I haven’t gone and seen Cristina Booth since she killed my father. I don’t intend to go see her now when she’s dying.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I say and then hang up.
When the phone rings again, I don’t answer the call.
I don’t know how to feel. So, I sit and stare at the plain white wall in the small conference room designed for people to take calls in.
No windows. One door. One table and two chairs.
I’ve wondered how I’ll feel when she’s dead. How will I react when they call to tell me she’s gone?
I feel nothing. I feel everything.
I call Finn.
“Annie?”
“She’s dying.”
Short pause.
“Where are you?” He keeps his voice calm, like he’s talking to a frightened animal. He is.
“In a conference room at work.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. I’ll take you home. Okay?”
Silence.
“Just hang in there, Annie.”
I am numb. Cold. Shaking.
“I don’t know how to feel, Finn,” I say weakly.
“I’m coming, Annie.” There is urgency in his voice now. “I’ll help you figure out how to feel.”