Chapter 4
When the forty-minute call drew to a close, Megan didn't hand me a guaranteed offer.
On the other side of the monitor, she took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Claire, two years ago, you were the sharpest strategist in the business. But headquarters in Seattle cannot overlook a two-year employment gap. I can't just hand you a director-level contract right out of the gate."
Sweat gathered cold in the palm holding the mouse.
"However, there is an opening," Megan said, pulling up a project brief on screen. "Starting next week, I have a three-week digital transformation assessment project with independent compensation. Deliver rock-solid data, and I will personally go to the board to fight for your headcount in Seattle. It's an uphill battle. Are you in?"
"I'm in," I answered without a second thought.
Even if it was only the narrowest crack in the door, I was going to force my foot through it.
After ending the call, I took a deep breath and began mapping out my calendar across the dining table.
The sound of a key turning in the front latch broke the quiet.
Ethan shoved the door open, his suit jacket draped over his forearm.
Vivian walked in right behind him, carrying a box of high-end French macarons, her cheeks flushed from the successful client pitch.
"Done with your little interview?" Ethan asked as he kicked off his shoes, his tone as casual as if he were asking what was for dinner.
Vivian set the dessert box right onto the corner of the table, pinning down my notebook.
"Claire, I feel awful about earlier. The client insisted on having Ethan make the introduction—I hope I didn't ruin your schedule. What did Megan say?"
"She gave me a three-week project assessment. If I pass, we'll talk about a permanent role in Seattle."
Ethan’s hands froze on his necktie.
He strode over, looming above my draft, his brow knitting tighter and tighter.
"Another three weeks of high-stress trials? Seattle is a six-hour flight away. Who's going to run the house?"
"If I pass, I'm moving to Seattle."
"Out of the question." He hurled his briefcase onto the sofa, unzipped it, pulled out a manila folder, and slapped it down right on top of my outlines.
"Stop chasing these phantom evaluations. I've already lined up something far more realistic for you."
I picked up the papers. "What is this?"
"A part-time administrative coordinator for my firm’s event planning division," Ethan said, leaning against the chair as if he were doing me a favor.
"Two days in the office, and the rest you can do from home handling expense reports and venue logistics. The hours are completely flexible, which makes it easy for you to keep managing the house. Claire, I’ve met you halfway. You need to learn how to adapt."
Vivian draped her coat over a chair and offered a gentle, patronizing smile. "He's right, Claire. Admin work might be routine, but there's no pressure. When you've been out of the workforce for this long, it's the perfect ramp. If you're rusty with the modern software suites, I can always take some time to show you the ropes."
That dripping pity stung like fine needles pressed into my skin.
His version of "support" always ran down a single track—a narrow alleyway that never inconvenienced his life and kept me perpetually confined to the shadows of domestic duty.
"I don't want it." I pushed the folder back toward him. "Starting Monday, I am dedicating all my time to this assessment."
The smug composure on Ethan's face froze over. "All your time? What about our home? You don't even have an actual offer, and you're ready to abandon your responsibilities for a pipe dream? Claire, are you seriously turning your nose up at an admin role because of your pride?"
On the entryway console table, an open priority package sat under the light.
It was Vivian's official offer letter for Senior Brand Director, received earlier that morning, its red wax seal catching the gleam of the chandelier.
I raised my arm, my finger pointing dead straight at that document, and stared into Ethan’s darkening eyes.
"Why does she get to choose her future, while I can only choose my hours?"
The living room fell into a tomb-like silence, and the rehearsed smile on Vivian’s lips cracked completely.