“No,” I corrected. “You can’t afford dissent.”
The room went still.
I took a breath.
“I won’t issue a distancing statement,” I said.
Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Lia?—”
“I won’t apologize for loving someone,” I continued. “And I won’t pretend that my personal choices invalidate the work we’ve done.”
Thomas leaned back, folding his hands. “Then you leave us no choice.”
“Actually,” I said, surprising even myself with the calm in my voice, “that’s not true.”
All eyes fixed on me.
“I resign,” I said.
The word landed heavy.
Abigail’s pen froze mid-scratch.
Eleanor stared at me. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Lia, think about what you’re giving up.”
“I have,” I said softly. “All night.”
Thomas’s expression shifted—less anger now, more calculation. “That’s … dramatic.”
“No,” I replied. “It’s clean.”
Eleanor’s voice wavered. “We could weather this. If you just?—”
“Compromised?” I finished. “Issued a carefully worded half-truth? Distanced myself from the man I stood beside last night?”
She didn’t answer.
I straightened.
“I built this organization because I believed women shouldn’t have to shrink themselves to fit someone else’s narrative. If I stay and let you control mine, what does that make me?”
Silence stretched.
Finally, Eleanor closed her tablet slowly. “If you step down, the board will appoint an interim director immediately.”
“I understand.”
Thomas rose from his chair. “Your departure will mitigate some of the fallout.”
I looked at him evenly. “Or expose it.”
He didn’t reply.
I gathered my bag.
