This is what good parenting looks like. And I’m watching a masterclass.
They both turn to look at me. I must have some expression on my face because they start laughing.
Ben runs over and hugs my legs. I ruffle her wild curls and feel the tight knot in my chest loosen another degree.
Yeah.
This is right.
The week moves fastafter that. Elena gets the EIC agreement signed within twenty-four hours. The Editor-in-Chief shows up Monday night to observe Family Meal. She sits on a back stool with her notebook and a voice recorder. Sees the “cook, don’t post” signage. Takes notes when Ben does her breathing exercise for theyounger kids.
No cameras. No recording. No ambush.
Just quiet observation.
Wednesday morning, a small standards piece runs. The headline reads:How Marco Fiore’s Family Meal Initiative Tackles Childhood Anxiety And Keeps His Best Employees.
It’s one of the most glowing pieces about my company I’ve read in months.
I receive a text from Gianna shortly thereafter.The Metropolitan Ledger reassigned the Fiore beat internally. Kells is sidelined.
Good.
Fuck him.
Jess’s strategy worked. Yet again.
God I really love her.
Thursday afternoon, we’re running a Parent Lounge event. Shelf Day. Basically a private pantry restock for staff families. It’s invitation-only, with wristbands applied at the door. No exceptions.
I’m helping Matteo load shelves when Jag’s voice crackles in my ear. I’m wearing a discreet security piece for the event. Force of habit.
“Subject at service alley. Kells. Approaching from east.”
Fuck.
I hand Matteo the box of pasta I’m holding. “Be right back.”
I text Elena, who’s at the event:Do you have the trespass notice?
Her reply is immediate:I do.
It’s something she’s prepared precisely for situations like these.
I text back:Meet me in the service alley.
Jess is across the room talking to André. I catch her eye but quickly look away.
She doesn’t need to be dragged into this shit. Kells is my problem. My mess to clean up.
I head toward the exit alone.
Footsteps behind me. I glance back. Jess is following anyway.
My first instinct is to wave her off. Keep her away from the ugliness. The same controlling bullshit that’s been my default for years.
But fuck that. She’s not some delicate garnish I need to protect. She’s my partner.
