The Promotion

Chapter Forty-Eight

I hadn't expected to be at Rebecca's office for long.

In my head, I'd imagined an hour—maybe two at most. A careful conversation, a few notes taken, a promise to return another day. Instead, the sun had shifted position in the sky more times than I could count, and by the time I stepped back onto the pavement, my body felt hollowed out, like I'd been scraped raw from the inside.

Home was the only place I could think about.

I didn't even consider going back to the office. The idea of sitting upright, of pretending I was fine, felt impossible. There was an invisible pull dragging me in the opposite direction, urging me toward safety, quiet, familiarity. Toward Alexander.

Rebecca had warned me it would be intense—but warnings don't prepare you for having to excavate memories your mind has deliberately buried. I'd spoken every detail aloud. Things I hadn't said in years. Things I hadn't even admitted to myself. Each word felt like lifting something sharp from my chest.

By the time I reached home, exhaustion clung to me like damp clothing.

I went straight to the bedroom, closing the door behind me and leaning back against it, eyes shut. The silence wrapped around me, thick and comforting. For a moment, I stayed there, breathing, grounding myself. Safe. At least for now.

I sent Alexander a quick message—I'm home—then headed for the bathroom.

The shower steamed the room almost instantly. Hot water cascaded over my skin, washing away the lingering weight of the day. The first touch of heat stung, but I welcomed it. The scent of strawberries from my shampoo filled the air as I worked it into my hair, letting the ritual slow me down. Letting my thoughts settle.

By the time I stepped out, wrapped in comfort clothes, my body felt lighter—even if my mind was still tangled.

I was towel-drying my hair when the door reflected in the mirror opened.

Alexander.

Relief flooded me so fast it made my chest ache.

He didn't hesitate. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me close until my back was flush against his chest. His lips brushed my neck—soft, grounding, familiar.

"How was it?" he asked quietly.

I sighed. "Hard. Rebecca wanted everything. She said detail matters."

His hands slid up to my shoulders, turning me gently to face him. His eyes were warm, searching. He kissed my forehead, lingering.

"How often do you need to see her?"

"Three times a week," I murmured. "Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays."

He pulled me into a hug, firm and steady. "You're not doing this alone. Not for a second."

I tilted my face up and kissed him softly. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replied without hesitation.

When he went to shower, I sat on the bed, watching the bathroom door close, smiling faintly at myself. Nearly ten months together, and he still made my heart trip over itself.

⸻

When Alexander emerged again—hoodie, joggers, hair damp—I barely noticed him speaking at first.

"Come on."

I blinked. "What?"

"Ice cream."

I laughed. "I'm in a hoodie."

"So am I." He grinned. "That's the point."

Something about the idea—night air, the car, comfort food—felt right. Like a reward for surviving the day.