About the six years of being overlooked, underpaid, and underestimated, about the promise he'd made to his wife on her deathbed, that he would give their daughter a better life. This trip could change everything. one successful project with the CEO and doors that had always been closed might finally open. But if he refused, he would spend the night on an airport bench, show up to the meeting exhausted and unprepared, and watched the opportunity slip through his fingers like sand. Richard's voice echoed in his memory. "He doesn't have the experience," William straightened his shoulders.
"I'll take the floor," he said. Candace's expression flickered, something that might have been surprise or maybe respect. She turned to the receptionist. We'll take it. The receptionist handed over a single key card, her relief evident.
William picked up his suitcase and followed Candace toward the elevator, acutely aware of every step. His phone buzzed. A text from his sister. Serena won't sleep. She's waiting for your call.
William looked at the elevator doors closing in front of him, at Candace Mitchell standing rigid beside him at the long night stretching ahead. He had made his choice for Serena, for their future. He just didn't know yet what that choice would cost him. The hotel room was smaller than William had expected. A single queen bed dominated the space, flanked by a worn nightstand and a lamp that flickered when he turned it on.
In the corner sat an old sofa, its cushions sagging from years of use. The wallpaper was peeling near the ceiling, and the window rattled with each gust of wind. Candace walked in first, her heels sinking into the thin carpet. She surveyed the room with the same expression she used in boardrooms, clinical, assessing, revealing nothing. "The bathroom is yours first," she said, already pulling out her laptop.
I have emails to send. William nodded and retreated to the small bathroom, grateful for even a few minutes alone. He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The fluorescent light made him look older. The shadows under his eyes deeper than usual.
What are you doing here? He asked himself. One wrong move, one misunderstanding, and everything you've built could disappear. When he emerged, Candace had positioned herself on the bed, laptop open, typing with focused intensity. She had changed into a simple blouse and slacks, still professional, still armored.
William made his way to the sofa. It creaked under his weight, and he could feel a spring pressing against his back. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. 9:47. Serena would be waiting.
I need to make a call, he said. Is that Go ahead. Candace didn't look up from her screen. William walked to the small balcony, sliding the glass door open just enough to step outside. The rain had softened to a drizzle, but the wind still carried a bitter chill.
He pressed Serena's contact and waited. Her face appeared on the screen almost instantly, her eyes bright despite the late hour. Daddy. Hey, baby girl. William felt something loosen in his chest at the sight of her.
Why aren't you asleep yet? I was waiting for you. Aunt Monica said the plane didn't fly. That's right. There's a big storm, so I'm staying at a hotel tonight.
Serena's face scrunched up in thought. Is it a nice hotel? William glanced back through the glass door at the cramped room at Candace's rigid posture on the bed. It's cozy. Daddy, I drew a picture today.
Serena held up a piece of paper to the camera. It's you and me at the park, but I couldn't draw your smile, right? What do you mean? I don't know what your real smile looks like anymore. Her voice was matter-of-fact, the way children deliver truths that cut deeper than any blade.
"Can you smile so I can see? " William forced his lips upward. "How's this? " Serena shook her head. "That's not it.
That's your tired smile. I want the one from the pictures with mommy. " Through the glass, William saw Candace's fingers stop moving on the keyboard. She was listening. He turned back to the screen, his throat tight.
"Tell you what," he said. "When I come home, we'll practice smiling together. Deal? " "Okay, but you have to tell me a story first. I can't sleep without a story.
" William leaned against the balcony railing, letting the cold air ground him. "Once upon a time," he began, "There was a little princess named Serena who lived in a castle made of blankets and pillows. He wove the story from nothing, the way he did every night. A tale of a brave princess and a tired knight who fought dragons made of shadows and monsters made of worry. The knight always won, but he was always exhausted, always carrying his sword, even when the battle was over.
"The knight should take a nap," Serena interrupted. "He's too tired to fight anymore. " "Maybe you're right," William said softly. "Maybe he should. " And maybe he should find a friend.
Knights shouldn't be alone. William's eyes burned. Maybe, he whispered. Good night, princess. Good night, Daddy.
I love you to the moon. And back, he finished. Always and back. He ended the call and stood in the darkness for a long moment, letting the rain wash over his face so he could pretend the wetness on his cheeks came from the storm. When William stepped back inside, Candace had closed her laptop.
She sat with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance. "Serena," she said quietly. "That's a beautiful name. " William froze by the glass door. "In 6 years of working at the company, he had never heard Candace Mitchell make small talk.
Never heard her acknowledge that her employees had lives outside the office. Thank you, he managed. My wife chose it. She passed away. The question was direct but not unkind.
William found himself moving toward the sofa, sinking back into its uncomfortable embrace. Four years ago, car accident. The words came out flat, practiced. He had said them so many times they had lost their edges. Serena was two.
She doesn't really remember her. Candace absorbed this information in silence. Then unexpectedly, she spoke again. You raise her alone. My sister helps when she can, but mostly, "Yeah, it's just us.
" "That must be. " Candace searched for the word difficult. William almost laughed. "Diff difficult. Such a small word for something so immense.
For the sleepless nights when Serena had nightmares about a mother she couldn't remember. For the school events where he was the only father alone in a sea of couples. For the constant grinding exhaustion of being everything to someone when you had nothing left to give. You get used to it, he said instead. Do you?