Tom
The meeting roomsmelled faintly of coffee and toner, too warm for February. The glass walls trapped every sound—the shuffle of papers, the line of Richard’s pen as he underlined something on the plans.
Across the table, the Kents sat with the kind of charm that came from years of dinner parties and charity galas. Mrs. Kent’s rings caught the light; Mr. Kent’s cufflinks gleamed.
They were the sort of people his mother wanted to ingratiate herself with. The sort of clients his father courted. Tom could see things so clearly now, in a way he’d been blind to for so many years.
Lauren had shown him the way. He just wished he’d followed her guidance sooner.
Richard’s voice filled the room, smooth and assured. “The addition will echo the existing architecture—clean, neutral, simple. The result is timeless.”
Mr. Kent nodded, polite. “Yes, very tasteful.”
That word again.Tasteful.
Mrs. Kent looked less convinced. She leaned closer to the plans, her forehead creasing. “It’s beautiful,” she said carefully, “but maybe a little… boring?”
Richard’s smile didn’t waver. “Boring means longevity. Trends fade. Restraint endures.”
Tom felt the old tightness in his chest. Restraint. Endurance. White walls and polite silence.
Mrs. Kent’s voice brought him back. “We’d hoped for something that felt a little warmer. Lila’s had a difficult year—you know how it is—and we want her to feel at home.”
Richard’s reply came automatically. “Of course. Warmth can be achieved through décor. Perhaps a soft rug, some color in the upholstery?—”
Lila. Lila Kent. The name was all too familiar.
The woman his parents had tried to seat beside him like a replacement part. The dinner flashed through him in a hot, bright jolt—his mother’s smile, his father’s dismissive tone.
Tom felt something settle in his chest then—a fierce, quiet clarity.
He wasn’t ever going to let their values be his again. He was Lauren’s husband and he would lethervalues be the ones he followed.
Mr. Kent exchanged a glance with his wife. “It’s a well-considered plan,” he said. “But we will need to reconsider our options. I think we want a different sensibility.”
Richard straightened, every inch the professional. “Of course. If you’d like to explore other firms, I completely understand.”
He was already closing the folder, the meeting as good as over.
Tom heard himself speak before he planned to. “We could design something more bold.”
Richard’s head snapped toward him.
Tom’s pulse thudded, but he didn’t back down. “What if we brought in more light? So the space feels open, connected. Less of a box.”
Mrs. Kent tilted her head, curious. “Do you have something you could show us?”
Richard’s warning was in the set of his shoulders. “Tom.”
But she’d asked. And Tom did have something. Lauren’s studio.
He reached for his tablet, flipping through his files with a swipe. “I’ve been working on something—personal. It’s not for this project, but it shows the direction I’d take.”
He turned the screen toward them. The rendering glowed softly in the conference room light—rough lines, color blocking. A vaulted ceiling that caught sunlight. Windows reaching toward the sky. Angles that curved instead of cut. The room lookedalive.
Mrs. Kent’s eyes brightened; even Mr. Kent leaned forward.
“Oh,” Mrs. Kent said softly. “That’s lovely.”
