Our Little Matchmaker

CHAPTER 8: AN INVITATION FROM YESTERDAY

Dear Ms. Laurent,

We are honored to formally invite you to attend the annual Future Founders Charity Gala hosted by the National Entrepreneurs Foundation.

Isabella read the sentence twice.

Not because she didn't understand it.

Because she did.

The foundation was familiar.

Too familiar.

For a moment, the living room around her seemed quieter than before.

The television continued playing softly in the background. Ethan slept peacefully beneath his blanket, one hand still wrapped around the ear of his worn-out rabbit.

Sophie noticed the change in her expression immediately.

"What is it?"

Isabella locked her phone screen.

"An invitation."

"That serious?"

"It's not serious."

Sophie gave her a look.

"Isabella."

"What?"

"I've known you for years."

"And?"

"And you have exactly three faces."

Isabella raised an eyebrow.

"Three?"

"Yes."

"There's your CEO face."

"Your annoyed face."

"And the face you make when something matters but you don't want anyone to know it matters."

Isabella looked away.

"I don't have that face."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

Sophie reached for her coffee.

"Who is the invitation from?"

"The National Entrepreneurs Foundation."

Sophie paused.

"Oh."

That single word carried enough recognition.

Isabella noticed.

"You remember."

"I remember everything about that program."

The words settled between them.

Not heavy.

Just familiar.

Years ago, before the companies, before the headlines, before people used words like "empire" and "legacy" when describing their work, there had been programs like that.

Rooms filled with young people carrying impossible ideas.

People who believed they could build something meaningful despite having no resources, no connections, and no guarantees.

Sophie looked toward the sleeping child on the sofa.

"You should go."

Isabella looked back at her.

"Why?"

"Because you never go anywhere unless it involves work."

"That's not true."

Sophie waited.

Isabella sighed.

"Mostly true."

"Exactly."

Isabella looked at the invitation again.

The event was elegant.

Important.

Public.

The kind of gathering where cameras would follow every guest.

She was used to that.

But something about this invitation felt different.

Maybe it was simply because she remembered where she had started.

A small room.

A borrowed laptop.

A notebook full of ideas that most people had politely called unrealistic.

She had been younger then.

Less certain.

More reckless.

Sophie studied her carefully.

"You know what I find funny?"

"What?"

"You built a company that tells people to take risks."

"And?"

"You personally avoid them whenever possible."

Isabella smiled slightly.

"I take plenty of risks."

"Business risks."

"Those count."

"No."

"They do."

"No."

Sophie shook her head.

"You'll negotiate a billion-dollar deal without blinking, but someone asks you to attend a dinner and suddenly you need three days to think about it."

Isabella opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

Because unfortunately, Sophie had a point.

"Fine."

"So you'll go?"

"I'll consider it."

Sophie groaned.

"That is the Isabella version of yes."

"It is not."

"It absolutely is."

Before Isabella could answer, a small sleepy voice interrupted them.

"Why are you guys whispering?"

Both women turned.

Ethan was sitting up, hair messy, blanket around his shoulders.

Isabella immediately softened.

"Did we wake you?"

"No."

A pause.

"...Maybe."

Sophie smiled.

"Sorry, little man."

Ethan looked between them.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

Children had an unusual talent for detecting when adults were avoiding something.

"That means something happened."

Isabella exchanged a look with Sophie.

Then she smiled.

"I got invited somewhere."

"Where?"

"A special event."

"Can I come?"

She laughed.

"Not this one."

His face fell for exactly two seconds.

Then curiosity replaced disappointment.

"Why?"

"Because it's for grown-ups."

He considered that.

"Do grown-ups have fun?"

Sophie covered her mouth.

Isabella tried not to laugh.

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Sometimes they just talk about work."

Ethan looked horrified.

"That's not fun."

"I agree."

"Then why go?"

The question was innocent.

Simple.

Yet somehow difficult to answer.

Isabella looked down at the invitation.

"Because sometimes it's good to remember where things started."

Ethan tilted his head.

"Like when I learned to ride my bike?"

"Exactly."

"But you don't ride a bike at the party?"

"No."

"Then that's different."

Sophie laughed.

"He's got you there."

Isabella smiled.

"Yes, he does."

Ethan yawned.

"Can I have water?"

"Of course."

He held out his arms.

"Carry me?"

"You can walk."

"But I'm sleepy."

"Your legs still work."

"They don't feel like it."

Sophie watched as Isabella picked him up anyway.

"You know he wins every time."

"I know."

"You pretend you don't."

"I know that too."

Ethan rested his head against her shoulder as she carried him toward his room.

Sophie followed behind.

The hallway was filled with little pieces of his life.

Drawings taped to the wall.

A toy car abandoned near the door.

A collection of rocks gathered from a park because each one was apparently "special."

Isabella placed him gently into bed.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Mummy."

She pulled the blanket higher.

"Sleep well."

He was already halfway asleep when he asked,

"Mummy?"

"Yes?"

"Will you be there on Friday?"

She knew exactly what he meant.

The school event.

The one she had promised.

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Satisfied, Ethan closed his eyes.

Isabella stayed for another moment before quietly leaving the room.

When she returned to the living room, Sophie was standing near the window.

"You really should go."

Isabella looked at her.

"You've decided that already?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sophie turned.

"Because you built a life where everyone knows your name."

She glanced toward Ethan's room.

"But sometimes I think you forget you deserve to have moments that aren't just responsibilities."

Isabella didn't answer.

She looked down at her phone.

The invitation was still open.

After a few seconds, she pressed the reply button.

I would be honored to attend.

She stared at the message before sending it.

A strange feeling moved through her.

Not excitement.

Not fear.

Something else.

Something she couldn't quite name.

She pressed send.

Across the city, in a different office high above the streets, another invitation sat waiting for approval.

And another person was about to make the same decision.