Her parents had conceived her easily. But no siblings followed. Not for lack of hope. Years of IVF came after her, filled with silent heartbreak they’d never named, but that she’d felt anyway. Somewhere along the way, she’d started trying to shine enough for two children. To fill the space with double the memories. Twice the milestones. So they didn’t have to look back and wish there’d been more.
She’d never known he saw it. And now he was telling her: she could put it down.
“You’re not lost, mija. You just want something different now.”
She blinked, throat thick. She didn’t answer, just leaned across the table, laid her head on her arms beside him like she used to when she was five and tired. He put his large, warm hand over hers.
“Tell your mama in the morning. She’ll cry a bit. Then she’ll start packing you snacks.”
Bea gave a breath of a laugh into her sleeve.
He rose, collecting his mug, and set the folded pages aside. As he passed behind her, he touched her shoulder. “Go where you need to go. We’ll be right here.”
Bea didn’t say thank you. She just stayed there, breathing in the warmth of her childhood kitchen, knowing what came next.
She’d found it again. Not permission. Release. Assurance. Encouragement to fly.
The kind only her father could give.
Chapter Six
GAGE
Sun spilled through the glass, low and golden across the long conference table in Gage’s office. The skyline stretched beyond floor-to-ceiling glass, a kingdom observed from above. Inside, the room was stark: leather, chrome, control. Files and folders were arranged in disciplined rows.
Nathaniel West, his friend and right-hand, sat across from him, jacket off. His eyes scanned over the numbers.
“Margin’s tighter than I like,” Nate said, nodding toward the screen. “We can squeeze it in post-close, but I’ll need autonomy.”
“You have it,” Gage replied without looking up, finishing the notation on his tablet. “We’ll restructure the back-end next quarter.”
“Good.”
The door opened, and Victoria stepped in, heels soundless on the polished floor, a crisp folder in one hand, her tablet in the other. “Ready for final sign-off,” she said, crossing the roomand placing the folder at Gage’s left, open to the signature page, aligned ninety degrees with his keyboard. “Legal’s standing by.”
“Tell them I’ll have it done tomorrow,” Gage said.
“Of course.” Victoria turned on a heel and exited, typing something into her tablet before the door closed.
Nate leaned back slightly. “She scares the interns.”
“She should.”
Gage reached for his phone, his screen alight with a single message.
BEA: Landed.
He set the phone face down, closed the folder Victoria had brought, and stood.
Nate watched him. “She’s back.”
Gage adjusted his jacket, smoothing the cuff. “She is.”
Nate considered him. “She doesn’t know you stayed for her?”
“Does it matter?”
“It will.”
