Chapter 2
On December 30th, I threw on a crisp white button-down I'd kept since college and took the subway downtown to Brightview Design Studio.
The receptionist left me cooling my heels in the lobby for forty minutes.
When I finally got in, a guy in his late forties wearing thick black-rimmed glasses flipped through my portfolio. His bored, routine expression sharpened as he turned the pages.
"You designed all these yourself?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Your resume shows just one year at a firm, followed by a five-year gap?"
"Family commitments."
He gave a slow nod and leafed through two more pages.
"Ms. Nolan, I'll be straight with you—that gap is a red flag. But your design eye is sharp, especially on this urban green-space project. The structural layout is remarkably solid," he said.
I stayed silent, letting the work speak.
"I can offer you a junior designer slot, three months probation, two thousand a month. How's that sound?" he asked.
2,000 dollars a month. A complete lowball.
Five years ago, fresh out of college, my starting offer was 2,600 dollars.
"I'll take it," I said.
As I walked out of Brightview Design Studio, I ran right into two familiar faces.
It was Emily Lane.
She was wearing a camel coat, holding a cup of coffee, with Andrew trailing behind her.
The three of us stood frozen at the entrance of the glass office tower, locking eyes for a long, quiet moment.
Emily was the first to break the silence.
"Susan? What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I had a job interview," I said.
Andrew glanced at my worn-out shirt, his brows furrowing slightly.
"So you're actually trying to find a job now?" he asked.
"Divorced or not, I still have bills to pay," I said.
Emily wrapped her arm around Andrew's elbow and flashed a sweet smile.
"Andrew, what kind of firms are even in this building?" she asked.
"Brightview. Just a tiny boutique firm," he said.
Emily turned back to me, her voice dripping with fake concern.
Susan, do you need a connection? I know plenty of big players in design. Though, with a gap like yours, it might be an uphill battle.
"I'm fine, thanks," I said.
I brushed past her without a second glance.
Behind me, Emily's voice rang out, clearly meant for Andrew to hear. "She's pretty ambitious, though. Still, after being out of work for so many years, she should be grateful she managed to find a job at all."
On the subway, I gripped the handrail, my palms sweating a little.
Two thousand dollars.
Junior designer.
If I had to start from scratch, then so be it.
If I could rank top of my class at twenty-three, I could get back on my feet at twenty-eight, too.
*****
On my first day, my team leader was Alex Foster, two years younger than me.
He tossed me the floor plans for a project.
"The client rejected three designs for the facade of this commercial complex. Try coming up with a new direction," he said.
Three days later, I handed in my first draft.
Alex stared at it for a long time, then turned the screen toward Daniel Mercer.
Daniel walked over, took off his glasses, and examined it twice.
"Who taught you to do this kind of folded surface treatment on the facade?" he asked.
"Nobody taught me. I just worked it out on my own," I replied.
Daniel stared at me for three seconds.
"Take it to the client and show them," he directed.
A week later, the client gave my design the green light.
Alex clapped me on the shoulder in the break room.
"Are you sure you're just a junior designer?" he teased.
I just smiled and kept quiet.
That night, I got back to my little place on Emerald Street and was about to toss a frozen pizza in the oven when my phone rang.
It was Andrew.
After a moment's hesitation, I picked up.
"Susan, the lawyer's got the divorce papers ready. When can you come sign?"
"Anytime."
"Any terms you want?"
"No. The house and car were yours before we got married. As for the savings, just give me whatever you see fit."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
"We've got forty thousand dollars in joint savings. We'll split it fifty-fifty."
Forty thousand dollars.
Five years of playing an unpaid housekeeper, waiting on their whole family hand and foot, and all I got was twenty thousand dollars.
"Fine."
"So, Saturday morning at the courthouse?"
"Fine."
I hung up and went back to heating up my pizza.
Twenty thousand dollars, plus my paycheck, was enough to live on.
As long as I could survive, I'd earn everything else myself.
On Saturday at the courthouse, Andrew was in a full suit, looking like he was heading to an important board meeting.
The process was quick.
Sign, fingerprint, get the papers.
As I walked out of the courthouse, Andrew called out to me.
"Susan," he said.
I stopped.
"If you... if you ever run into trouble in the future you can come to me. We were married for five years, after all. I won't just turn a blind eye," he said.
I looked at his polished face.
"Andrew, just worry about yourself," I said.
I turned and walked off.
The divorce papers tucked in my pocket felt as weightless as scrap paper.