I stand, grab my light coat, and stick my head into Violet’s office. “Hey, I’m going to grab a sandwich. Want anything?” She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at her screen like it’s hypnotizing her. A flicker of worry pricks at me, and I step farther inside. “Violet?”
She startles, blinking herself back into focus, and I catch the dark smudges under her eyes. “Sorry,” she says, voice rough. “Didn’t hear you.”
“I think you were asleep. Sitting up. Eyes open.”
She lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, feels about right.”
“That takes real talent, or real exhaustion.”
“Parker was up half the night again.” She stretches, bones cracking. “At this point, I’d trade a week’s salary for six uninterrupted hours of sleep.”
I drop into the chair across from her. “You were only off four months, right?”
“Four and a half weeks,” she says, yawning. “And thank God for my mom during the days. Jeremy’s been on the road again, so it’s just me and the baby most nights.”
My heart tightens. I picture her in this same chair, juggling clients, deadlines, and exhaustion while her husband’s on the other side of the country. Then, without meaning to, I think of my own mom, how she gave up everything when she had me. No backup plan, no partner flying home on weekends. Just her.
The guilt cuts deep, slicing through the armor I wear to work every day. She sacrificed her career so I could chase mine, and sometimes I tell myself my success is her reward. But on days like this, when my phone won’t stop ringing and every conversation feels like a dead end, I can’t help but wonder, is this really anyone’s prize?
Because maybe life is about more than a title and a paycheck. Maybe I want the things I’ve been pretending I don’t—slow mornings, a messy kitchen, a hand reaching for mine in the dark… children.
But my mother warned me not to chase those things. Said they’d only distract me from what’s important. Said love and babies can distract from what’s important, and can leave you alone and struggling.
Maybe though, what’s important to her isn’t what’s important to me.
I know women can do it ‘all’ these days. I hear it all the time. I see it around me. Just look at Violet. She’s exhausted, yes, but she’s doing it.
Only problem is… I don’t want to do it all.
God, did I really just admit that to myself?
It’s such a twisted mess. Women are shamed for working when they have kids. Shamed for not working when they have kids. Shamed for wanting both. Shamed for wanting neither. There’s no right answer, just a constant shifting line you’re expected to walk without tripping.
I think about how hard I’ve worked to get here, how many nights I’ve stayed late, chasing the next rung. How much my mom gave up—her time, her dreams—so I could have this career, this independence, this life she never got. If I walked away now to raise a family, she’d never say it out loud, but I’d see it in her eyes. That look that says, after everything I gave you, you’re throwing it away.
The guilt settles heavy in my chest, a weight I can’t quite shake.
With those thoughts still clinging to me, I head to the café across the street. I grab sandwiches and strong coffee for Violet and myself, and when I get back, the rest of my afternoon unravels into the same frustration as the morning—calls, follow-ups, small wins that don’t add up to anything that feels solid.
Then, out of nowhere, one conversation pulls me down a rabbit hole, and by the time I finally hang up, the office is half-empty and the sky outside has gone indigo.
I stretch my neck, rub my temples, and shoot Jaxon a quick text to let him know I’ll be running late, stopping for wine, maybe a salad. My phone buzzes almost immediately. His name lights up the screen, and just seeing it makes my pulse lift, like a tiny reset after a long, draining day.
“Hey,” I say, a little breathless. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”
“It’s okay,” he responds, voice warm and steady, not at all upset. “I can pick up the wine. I already made some food.”
Some of the tension drains out of me. “Of course you did. My man who’s great in the kitchen.”
In so many ways.
He chuckles softly. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, just busy. How about you? Practice go okay?”
“Yeah, it was good. Met up with the guys at the Nook beforehand.” There’s something in his tone I can’t quite place. “You were right about Gina. She’s run off her feet.” A low whistle. “It’s crazy in there.”
“I know. I wish there was a way I could help her.”