It was true, though.
I stayed in the bathroom until the crying stopped.
Then I washed my face, removed what remained of my mascara, and returned to the conference room.
Martin had paused the presentation.
The clients looked uncomfortable.
Nobody liked grief in an office. It had no clear deliverables.
I sat down.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Personal issue.”
The insurance company’s chief marketing officer nodded sympathetically.
“Take all the time you need.”
Then he pointed at the screen.
“We do need a decision on blue by end of day.”
I stared at him.
Nora made a small warning sound beside me.
Something inside my head became very quiet.
“Of course,” I said.
I closed my laptop.
Then I stood.
Martin frowned.
“Ellie?”
“Ocean Confidence.”
The client blinked.
“You prefer that one?”
“No.”
I looked at the three rectangles.
“I genuinely do not care.”
That was the moment.
Not the hospital.
Not the funeral.
Not the six weeks of waking up and remembering all over again.
