Monday arrives with rain and purpose.
I am up at six without an alarm, which is just how I am wired on days that matter, and I shower and dress while Rhys takes the seven am construction call at the kitchen table in yesterday's shirt with coffee and his laptop and the focused quiet of a man already completely inside his work day.
I stand in front of the bedroom mirror in the black dress I bought specifically for this, structured, sharp, the kind that says I am not here to be liked, I am here to be exceptional, and I put on the earrings that were my grandmother's and look at myself for a moment.
Senior Creative Director.
Harlow Creative Group.
London.
Yeah.
I come out to the kitchen and Rhys looks up from his call, sees me, and does a thing with his expression that is
