Chapter 2
Three months after the divorce, I got promoted to executive producer.
The day the news broke, the department group chat blew up.
Some people sent fireworks emojis, others shouted, "Ms. Olivia Reed rocks!"
Someone even messaged me privately: [Ms. Reed, did you get some secret help or what? Your luck is off the charts lately.]
I thought about it and replied: [Honestly, I did.]
[Who? Hook me up.]
[Myself.]
She replied with a bunch of question marks. I didn't explain any further. But it was the truth.
Before the divorce, my mind was always running through stuff like: what time was Patrick getting home today? Should I save him some dinner?
Where were we taking the kid this weekend? What should I buy for his mom's birthday? Gotta remember to iron his shirts if they were wrinkled. And if he came back tipsy from work drinks, I needed to whip up some hangover soup.
I basically turned myself into a 24/7 live-in help desk for the family.
But after the divorce, all that was gone. I took all that energy back and poured it straight into my work.
Project proposal gets approved on the first try? No big deal. I pulled three all-nighters for that.
Managed to land that tough guest? Of course. I watched every single one of his interviews and pinpointed three moments where he had emotional breakdowns.
Team morale was sky-high? Sure. I was always the first one in and the last one out. Who'd dare slack off with me around?
In three months, I racked up the kind of results the whole department usually takes half a year to achieve.
When my boss called me in for a chat, I thought he was about to give me a pat on the back. Instead, he said, "Olivia, you got divorced, right?"
I was caught off guard. "How did you know?"
"Because you're finally working for yourself," he said. "You were always a hard worker, but you always looked tired, like you were grinding because you had to. Now it's different. There's a spark in your eyes."
Hearing that from a middle-aged guy boss, it sounded a little corny, but he wasn't wrong.
Back then, I busted my ass to please everyone else. Now, I did it for myself.
For my first project after the promotion, I took on a huge gig: producing a talk show featuring urban women's stories.
The first guest was a stand-up comedian, thirty, single, and sharp-tongued.
She said her mom kept pushing her to get married, so she fired back, "Mom, right now, I've got everything I need except a man. Are you really sure you want me to give all that up for a guy?"
Her mom was so pissed she didn't talk to her for three days.
After the interview, she asked me, "Ms. Reed, are you married?"
"I'm divorced," I replied.
"Got any kids?"
"I have a son."
She gave me a thumbs-up. "You're a badass. You actually had the guts to get divorced even with a kid."
I laughed. "Wouldn't it be weirder if I didn't?"
She laughed too, then looked at me seriously. "For real, what was going through your mind?"
I thought for a second and said, "A friend once had a bird that was kept in a cage for eight years. One day, the cage door was open, so the bird flew out, stood outside the window for a moment, and flew back in."
"And then?" she asked.
"And then the bird realized it wasn't the cage holding it back. It thought leaving would kill it," I said. "But I'm a person, not a bird."
She paused for a moment, then asked, "Can I use that in my stand-up routine?"
"Go ahead. If it goes viral, make sure to split the fame with me," I replied.
When I got home from work that day, Max was already asleep.
My mom had left a note that read, "Dinner's in the pot, veggies are in the fridge. It's getting colder tomorrow, so make sure to bundle him up."
I sat at the dining table, staring at that note, and suddenly felt the urge to cry. But I held it back.
Tomorrow, I'd have to get up early, sit through meetings, and keep showing up as that executive producer with a spark in her eyes.
Life gives women plenty of chances to cry, but even more reasons to smile. I choose to put my strength into the moments that make me laugh.