Chapter 3

For my first Christmas after the divorce, I didn't go home.

I called Mom and told her I was too busy with a project to leave.

She was silent for a long time on the phone, then finally said, "As long as you're doing okay, that's enough for me."

On Christmas Eve, I was alone in my apartment, cooking up pasta, with the TV on for the noise.

Joanne video-called me, and behind her was a table piled high with food and a bunch of loud, rowdy relatives. "You're spending Christmas Eve alone?"

"At least I've got pasta with me," I replied.

"Susan, you—"

"Don't say it. I'm really okay."

She looked at me on the screen, then suddenly lowered her voice. "David went to Mrs. Reed's place today. He brought a ton of gifts."

My hand froze mid-air, holding the pasta.

Joanne said, "Mrs. Reed wouldn't let him in. He left everything in the hallway."

"I see," I replied.

"He asked Mrs. Reed where you were, and she said she didn't know," Joanne added.

I didn't say anything.

"Susan, are you really not going to tell him why?" Joanne asked.

"There's no need," I replied.

"But—"

"Joanne, it's Christmas. Let's not talk about this."

After I hung up, the pasta was already mushy.

As I poured it out, I suddenly remembered last Christmas Eve.

David was wearing an apron, busy in the kitchen with three dishes and a soup, which were nothing fancy, but they tasted good.

I was curled up on the couch, scrolling through my phone, and when he brought out the food, he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "Honey, dinner's ready."

I blinked hard, then put the bowl in the sink.

The past stayed in the past.

After Christmas, I was back at the studio when Grace tossed a file at me. "Check this out. The client is looking for a design team for the old factory site out west."

"How big is it?" I asked.

"There are seven buildings in the whole complex; the budget is 10 million dollars. A small studio like ours shouldn't be in the running, but the client said they're judging by the proposal first, not the company size."

"Should we go for it?"

"What do you think?"

I opened the file and skimmed it for five minutes. "Let's do it."

This project was the first real turning point in my career.

I spent two weeks on-site with my team, getting a feel for every building's layout, lighting, and flow. We worked on the proposal for two months, scrapped it, and started over four times.

On the day of the final pitch, the conference room was filled with design directors from eight different companies.

I was the only one without a director title.

The client rep leafed through my proposal and asked, "How many people are in your company?"

"Six," I replied.

A few people chuckled.

"Six people? How can you take on something this huge?" the client rep teased.

I stood up. "A good design isn't about headcount. You want a team that can turn this factory into a city icon, not a crowd."

The client rep stared at me for a few seconds. "You'll hear from us in two days."

At four o'clock in the afternoon, two days later, my phone rang. "Ms. Reed, congratulations. You got the project."

I hung up, and Grace looked at me from beside me. "So?"

My fingers went pale from gripping my phone. "We got it."

Grace pulled me into a hug, and we bounced around the office like crazy.