“Not yet. I’m saving it for when it’s useful.”
I looked back at the list.
Design principal.
I wrote it under my name and underlined it twice.
For seven years, I had let Callum call me supportive. I had let Laura call me detail-oriented. I had let clients assume I was the wife with good taste and a working knowledge of structural language, not the person who had designed the very structure of their lives.
But somewhere, in a filing cabinet or a box or the back of a drawer, there was a document with my actual title on it.
And I wanted it.
Not because a piece of paper made me real. Because Callum had spent seven years betting I wouldn’t remember where the paper was.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, Finn.
Finn
Client liked the glass connector concept. He asked who designed the setback solution.
My breath hitched.
Sloane saw that too, but for once, she didn’t comment.
I typed carefully.
What did you tell him?
Finn
The truth. That it was yours.
I read the message three times.
The truth. That it was yours.
Such a small thing. A single sentence. The bare minimum, really.
And still, something in my chest shifted, like a door I’d forgotten was closed had drifted open on its own.
Another message followed.
Finn
He wants an introduction when you’re ready. No pressure. Your call.
Your call.
Not I handled it. Not I gave him your name. Not I can set this up for you and you should be grateful.
Your call.
I pressed the phone against my chest for one second. Just one. Then I set it down before Sloane could look too smug about it.
“Finn?” she asked.
