Chapter 33 #2
Emilio was right about ownership. Since I'd been twenty-five and convinced that intelligence and determination could solve any problem, I was looking at work that would be mine.
Not supporting someone else's career or managing other people's social obligations, but building something that mattered to people who needed exactly what I had to offer.
"Thank you," I said, meaning it more completely than I'd meant anything in months. "For connecting me with Josh, for believing I could handle something this complex, and for treating my platform like achievement instead of just therapy."
"You don't need to thank me for recognizing what you're capable of," Emilio said, moving closer in ways that implied our conversation was shifting from business to something more personal.
"You've built a following because you tell the truth about experiences that matter.
Expanding that into programming is the natural next step. "
He walked me to the elevator, stopping close enough. I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he touched my face with gentleness that reminded me what it felt like when someone looked at you like you were worth treasuring.
The elevator doors closed between us, but I could see him watching until I disappeared from view. In the lobby, I walked past security guards.
Brett would have loved this office building. All that unnecessary grandeur and corporate intimidation disguised as sophistication. Emilio's office had been beautiful because it supported the work instead of overwhelming it. The difference felt significant in ways I was still learning to recognize.
I retrieved my car from the parking garage and drove through Manhattan traffic toward the Long Island Expressway.
The drive to the Hamptons would give me two hours to process what had just happened and whether I was ready for whatever partnership I'd just agreed to explore.
By the time I reached my building, I felt something I hadn't experienced since I'd been young enough to believe anything was possible if you wanted it badly enough.
Purpose. Clean, directed purpose that belonged entirely to me.
I made tea and settled on the porch to watch sunset paint the water in colors that changed every few minutes.
The day had been overwhelming in the best possible way, but I needed to hear my mother's words. Something about major life decisions made me want to check in with the woman who'd taught me that courage was just fear that had said its prayers.
I dialed her number, counting the rings while watching boats move across water that stretched toward horizons I was finally brave enough to imagine exploring.
"Hello, sweetheart," she answered, and I could imagine the smile in her response. "What a lovely surprise. How are you feeling?"
"I'm good, Mom," I said, settling deeper into the porch chair. "Really good. I had a business meeting today that went better than I'd hoped."
"Business meeting? What type of business?"
I explained the Vermont retreat center proposal, the programming development opportunity, and the chance to help women develop skills for rebuilding their lives instead of just surviving the destruction of their old ones.
My mother listened without interrupting, making small sounds of encouragement that told me she was following along despite the complexity of what I was describing.
"That sounds wonderful," she said when I finished. "Like work that could help people who need exactly what you've learned about starting over."
"It does feel like that," I agreed. "I'm excited about building something that belongs entirely to me in decades."
"How are your joints feeling?" I asked, shifting to her health concerns that Gary had been updating me about. "Is the new medication helping with the pain?"
"Much better, thank you for asking. Dr. O’Neil says the inflammation markers are improving, though I still have stiff mornings.
" She paused, and I could hear her settling into a chair, probably her favorite chair by the window.
"Gary mentioned you've been asking about my appointments.
You don't need to worry so much, sweetheart. "
"I know, but I want to stay informed. Gary said you were having trouble with the stairs?"
"Some days are harder than others, but the physical therapy helps. Your brother worries too much."
We talked for another few minutes about her medication schedule and whether she was eating enough protein, the standard routine of adult children managing elderly parents' health concerns while pretending the roles hadn't completely reversed.
"How is the divorce progressing?" she asked, steering the conversation back to my life. "Are you close to having everything finalized?"
"Very close," I said, thinking about Lindsay's latest update. "Brett's attorney stopped fighting the settlement terms because the forensic accounting made it impossible to claim he couldn't afford what the court ordered."
"Good," my mother said fiercely. "He earned every consequence he's getting."
"I'm proud of you," she continued, with conviction that made me grateful for her support. "For leaving someone who wasn't treating you well. You're doing exactly what you should be doing."
"Thank you, Mom. That means everything to me."
"I pray for you every night," she said quietly. "That God will bless the work you're doing and help you find peace in whatever comes next."
I hadn't told her about the apartment yet.
The divorce wasn't finalized, and explaining that I'd essentially rented an apartment seemed like information that might worry her unnecessarily.
Once everything was official, I'd bring her here for a visit.
Let her see the ocean and understand that leaving Brett had led to beauty instead of just survival.
After we hung up, I remained on the porch thinking about family support and the courage required to build a life that belonged entirely to you when you'd spent decades coordinating every decision with someone whose preferences had gradually overwhelmed your own.
Devin would arrive tonight after school, insisting he was old enough to drive himself despite my concerns about his highway skills and tendency to speed when he thought he could get away with it.
But he was seventeen and needed to experience independence, even if independence made his mother nervous about things like tire pressure and whether he'd remember to text when he arrived safely.