“Then do it,” I say, tired and done. “Your lawyer knows mine.”
“Worth—”
“Good night, Vanessa.” I end the call and set the phone face down, rubbing my temples to ease the eminent headache.
Then, I sense movement in the hallway.
I pivot.
Mya stands just outside the door, laptop hugged to her chest, guilt written across her face like she’s been caught trespassing.
Of course she’d be here late. She has been every day of her first week here. She’s the only other person who voluntarily lives in their work.
I press my thumb into the bridge of my nose, exhale once, and wave her in. “Come in, Ms Jones.”
She steps in, careful, closing the door behind her. “I’m sorry. I was going to ask about the terrace detail, and then you were on the phone and I?—”
“It’s fine.” It comes out sharper than I mean to. Her mouth presses into a thin line, but she nods.
“How can I help you?” I ask, gesturing to the desk.
Mya sits hesitantly, and sets her laptop down. “Are you okay?” Something that looks like concern flashes in her eyes.
“I’m working,” I deflect, flipping a page I’m not even seeing. “What do you need for A9?”
She doesn’t take the bait. “I know I’m a new employee and basically no one to you, Mr. Miller, but if you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
I exhale through my nose, but the frustration from the call doesn’t abate. “That’s not in your job description.”
“Neither is staying ‘til seven, yet here I am.”
I should send her back to her desk. Instead, words I haven’t said out loud in a long time spill out.
“My ex called,” I say, jaw tight.
Mya’s expression softens. “That must be complicated.”
“It’s not,” I bite off, heat burning under my skin. “She left us, and now she suddenly wants back in again.” My fingers drum on the table. I drag a breath through my teeth.
“We were happily married for five years before Brianna was born. Then it just went downhill.” My throat tightens as I speak. “She suffered from postpartum depression; we got her the help she needed. After that, she just seemed so disconnected. She began traveling all the time, leaving Bri with our nanny while I was at work, building the company.”
My jaw locks, and I stare past Mya to the dark pane of glass. “We barely saw each other. I felt like it was my fault, like I wasn’t there enough, and that’s what made her seek happiness elsewhere. The more money I made, the less present Vanessa became.”
I flatten my palm on the desk, steadying myself. “When I confronted her about what she was doing—who she was seeing, where all the money was going—she flipped, packed a bag, and walked. She didn’t even say goodbye to Brianna.” I swallowhard, the memory hitting like a body blow. “I had to explain her disappearance to a three-year-old.”
I don’t say that it gutted me, too.
How the house went too quiet at night, that I’d stand in the doorway of Bri’s room, counting her breaths, because it was the only thing that was still steady. How I slept on the couch for months, because sleeping in our bed felt wrong.
I don’t say that work wasn’t just work after that—it became my escape. If I kept the numbers growing and the schedules tight, then at least something held. If I made the company impossible to shake, maybeI’dstop shaking. You learn to lock it down and make the face that tells everyone you’re fine—until you almost believe it yourself.
I don’t say I’m still angry at how much it hurt.
Brianna needed a spine, not a puddle. So I took the hit, packed it behind my ribs, and kept moving.
Mya’s throat works. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not looking for sympathy.”