I turn my head. “What did you do?”
“I worked twice as hard, so no one could make me feel like I didn’t belong in the room I earned.”
“That’s the thing,” I whisper. “I don’t want anyone thinking?—”
“Sweetheart.” She reaches over and taps my knee. “People will think. That’s what they do. Your job is to know who you are and what you’ve built. If a hand opens a door out of love or partnership, that doesn’t erase your competence. It just means you’re not walking alone.”
I stare at our reflections on the black TV screen. “He said I don’t see him and that I think he’s just money and reputation.”
“Do you?”
I shake my head. “No. I see how he is with Brianna. How he listens and remembers the small things, like how scared I am to fly, or when he checks to see if I’ve eaten when I’ve had long days. He cares deeply about his friends and family even though he comes off as rude and cold. He values his employees and their work, even if he rarely shows it. I see… more.” The admission leaves me exposed.
“And he seesyou. Which is why it stung when you threw his last name at him like a weapon.”
I wince. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “But intention and impact aren’t twins.”
Silence again. The words I didn’t say this morning cling to my skin like humidity. I’m falling. This was never supposed to be real.
“Here’s my advice. Don’t shrink yourself to prove you’re not using anyone. And don’t shrink Worth to prove you don’t need him. If you want this project, claim it. If you love this man, tell him the truth—or at least stop lying to yourself.”
I huff a laugh. “What’s the truth?”
“That you’re afraid.” Her smile is a little sad. “Afraid that if you let your feelings sink in too deep, it will still end. Afraid that you’ll lose him. Fear makes people pick fights they don’t mean.”
Something tightens in my chest. I’ve been afraid since the day we lost Dad and the world never went back to normal. Ilearned early that love can be a trapdoor; one minute you’re standing on solid ground, the next you’re falling, and there’s no way to brace for impact.
Mom must see the thought cross my face. “When your father died, you started building walls and calling them plans. You needed to survive—and I understand that. But, Mya, not everyone who loves you is going to leave.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if I open the door and it’s just emptiness again?”
“It might not work. But you’ll still be you. And the you I know is brave, even when she’s shaking. Don’t let old grief make all your new decisions for you. Let it teach you how precious it is when someone stays, and how to stay, too.”
I breathe out, long and shaky. “I have to go. I still need to get to the office.”
My mom stands and kisses my forehead, the same way she used to when I was little and needed comforting. “You will be brilliant. And if they give you anything because of a last name, take it and show them why thefirstname is what matters.”
I grab my tote and step toward the door, then pivot back. “Mom?”
“Yes, love?”
“Thanks.” I swallow. “For lighting the candle. And for the truth.”
Her eyes shine. “Text me when it’s done, okay?”
“Promise.”
Outside, the air is crisp enough to make me stand a little straighter. I unlock my car and sit with my phone in my hand for five seconds of courage. Then I type:
I didn’t mean what I said this morning. I’m sorry.
I don’t wait for a reply. I start the engine, set the route, and pull into traffic.
I’m ready to stand in front of the board and make sure they remembermyname.
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