I covered it with a swipe of concealer out of habit, anyway—less because I was ashamed and more because I wasn’t in the mood to explain my private life to strangers in hotel elevators.
Then, I picked up my phone.
Two missed calls from Natalie. The mayor. One voicemail. A text.
Natalie:Hey, Sophie. Checking in. We can reschedule if you want. No pressure. Call me when you can.
I stared at it for a second.
A few days ago, just seeing her name would’ve made my stomach clench. Like I was about to be measured and found wanting. Like a panic attack had somehow become my entire personality.
But this morning, my body felt … steadier. Not because life had suddenly become safe, but because I’d walked straight into the parts of me I used to avoid and I hadn’t died there.
I pressed Call.
She answered on the second ring, bright and careful. “Sophie?”
“Hey,” I said, leaning my hip against the window and watching the harbor sparkle. “I’m calling you back.”
“Oh, I’m so glad. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I said honestly. “A lot better. And … I want to try again.”
There was a pause, then a soft exhale like she’d been holding her breath. “Okay. Okay, yes. We can absolutely do that. Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m sorry I bailed,” I added, because I meant it. “I wasn’t trying to be difficult.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I know you weren’t. And for what it’s worth, you handled it like a human. Not a robot. That’s allowed.”
A laugh slipped out of me—small, real. “Good. Because I’m not great at being a robot.”
“So.” I could hear her smile through the phone. “We can keep the harbor background, but we don’t have to do it from anywhere high. We have options. Aquarium Wharf, for one. Waterfront Park. Even down by the pier where it’s flat and open. You’ll still get that Charleston vibe without … you know.”
“Without the bridge,” I finished.
“Right.”
I watched a boat cut across the water, white wake trailing behind it like ribbon. “Aquarium Wharf sounds perfect.”
“Great. We can do that.”
“And,” I added, surprising myself with how calmly it came out, “I still want to tackle the bridge.”
Natalie went quiet, like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard me right.
“I do,” I said again, firmer. “Just … not for the interview. Not publicly. Not with cameras. I want to do it in private.”
There was something almost reverent in her voice when she said, “I love that.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Me, too.”
We set a time for that afternoon. She promised to send details. I hung up feeling … not fixed, exactly, but strengthened. Like a muscle had been torn and repaired thicker.
Like I’d proven something to myself and couldn’t un-know it now.
The rest of the morning felt oddly simple after that.
I checked out of the Belmond without drama, thanked the staff with the calm competence of a woman who belonged in nice places, and climbed into a cab with my sunglasses on and my hair still damp at the ends.
