Clara’s voice softens.
“You deserve better than that, Era.”
I swallow hard.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
Clara sighs.
“Well… it’s early as hell,” she says. “And you don’t start work for another two hours.” She sighs dramatically. “And can I just say—this is the only company I know that works on Saturdays.” I open my mouth, but she cuts me off immediately. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re going to say. They only do it once a month.” She adds.
A beat.
“But still,” she mutters, “how fucking odd.” Then her tone shifts slightly. “And honestly, you don’t even need the extra pay.”She goes quiet for a second, like she’s realizing what she just said. “Well… never mind. I take that back.”
We both let out a small huff of laughter.
Another pause, softer this time.
“Okay,” she says, her voice turning serious. “But where are you going to go?”
I don’t know. But a few minutes later after talking to Clara, I pull into a small park near the office. There’s a lake at the center, the water still and gray under the early morning sky. I park the car and walk toward a bench near the edge of the water. I sit down and wrap my arms around myself as the cool breeze drifts across the lake.
The surface of the water ripples softly. For a while I just sit there, watching the slow movement of the morning around me. A small group of ducks glides across the lake, their bodies cutting gentle lines through the glassy water. They move together, calm and unhurried, the soft sounds of their paddling echoing across the quiet shore. One of the ducks suddenly dips its head beneath the surface, sending little circles of ripples across the water before it pops back up again. The others follow, drifting slowly along the lake as the first hints of sunlight begin to stretch across the horizon. The scene is simple.
Peaceful.
Beautiful in a quiet way.
And for a moment, watching them glide across the water, I feel something inside my chest loosen just a little. Like the tight knot I’ve been carrying is finally starting to unravel. The ducks move forward slowly, leaving quiet ripples behind them, never once looking back atwhere they started. And I realize that maybe that’s what moving on looks like.
Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just… choosing a new direction.
Choosing yourself. I remember something I once read. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away from the life you thought you wanted… and start again. The thought is both heartbreaking and strangely beautiful. Because starting over means admitting that everything I built with Dominic is ending. But it also means something else. For the first time in a long time, I might finally be choosing myself.
An hour passes before I even realize it.
Eventually I stand from the bench, brushing my hands against my coat. The day is beginning now, people are starting to arrive, cars pulling into parking lots. The world is moving forward. I take one last look at the quiet lake, then I head toward the office. I walk into the office with my heart racing. The moment the elevator doors open, my stomach curls. The thought of seeing Lucien after yesterday makes my chest feel heavy. Our last conversation ended in a way that left something unfinished hanging between us.
Something fragile. Something painful.
I step into the hallway and force myself to breathe normally. Just work. That’s all this is. I reach my desk and begin my usual morning routine. Logging into the financial system, reviewing overnight transaction reports, organizing invoices that came through email, and updating the expense spreadsheet Andrew asked for yesterday. I check the calendar for the day’s finance meetings, print a few documents for Andrew’s afternoon review, and file the latest vendor payment approvals. Normal, routine. But my eyes keep drifting toward Lucien’s office. The door isopen, the lights are off and he’s not there. After a while I stand and walk down the hallway. I almost run into James near the copier.
“Hey,” I say. “Do you know if Lucien’s in today? I was actually going to ask him something about the finance meeting next week.”
James shakes his head.
“Yeah, I just heard from Andrew not too long ago,” he says. “Lucien’s not coming in this week.”
“Oh,” I say, caught off guard.
“Apparently he’s flying back to New York today.”
A tight pressure closes in on me.
“Oh,” I repeat quietly. “I didn’t know.”
