Chapter 7
792 Words
Lena – That Morning
Mateo was fussy.
Not the red-faced, full-throttle scream kind of fussy but the squirmy, clingy, I-know-you’re-about-to-leave-me kind.
I bounced him gently against my chest, whispering soothing things I barely believed myself. Ethan was in the kitchen, still at war with the bottle warmer. I wasn’t sure who was more nervous: me, or the machine.
“I think it’s broken,” he muttered, squinting like the numbers might rearrange into something useful.
I didn’t answer. Mateo had finally gone quiet, his cheek smushed against my collarbone, breathing soft and warm. My heart tugged hard.
“You okay?” Ethan asked from behind me, voice quieter this time.
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t. “Just… first-day nerves.”
He walked over, arms out. “Tag me in?”
I hesitated longer than I meant to. But finally, I passed Mateo over, watching his little fingers curl instinctively into Ethan’s hoodie. Something about the sight stopped me. Ethan half-awake, bed-headed, cradling this tiny baby like he’d been doing it for years.
“I should go.” I adjusted the strap on my bag, then paused in the doorway. “If anything feels off”
“Lena.” Ethan’s voice was calm but steady. “We’ll be okay.”
I nodded and stepped out into the brisk morning, trying not to feel like I’d just left a piece of myself behind.
Lena – Midday
The office was all glass and whiteboards and fast-talking people with coffee cups permanently attached to their hands. My supervisor, Kara, barely gave me time to breathe before I was handed a badge, a folder, and a task.
Research brief. Marketing trend report. Draft social copy.
It was everything I wanted. And it terrified me.
I moved through it like I’d been trained to in class, quiet, observant, competent but my mind kept flicking back to Mateo. Was he napping? Did Ethan figure out how to warm the formula without triggering a fire alarm?
“You okay?” Kara asked, handing me a granola bar without looking up from her monitor.
“Yeah.” I blinked. “Just… balancing a lot.”
She nodded knowingly. “College?”
“And an internship. And a practicum where I help raise a baby.”
That got her attention. She looked up, one brow raised. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Well,” she said, smiling a little, “welcome to real life.”
Lena – Late Afternoon
I stepped into the café across from the office, needing a place to decompress before heading home. That’s when I saw him.
Tall. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. Reading some business journal like it was thrilling fiction.
He looked up when I stepped in line. His eyes lingered just a second too long.
“You look like someone who just survived their first real day.”
I blinked. “That obvious?”
He grinned. “Only because I was you, last year.”
I let out a breath of a laugh. “So there’s hope?”
“Always.” He extended a hand. “I’m Nolan. Strategy team.”
I shook it. “Lena. Intern.”
His smile deepened. “Well, intern Lena, if you ever need someone to decode corporate lingo or show you where the snacks are hidden, I’m your guy.”
Lena – That Night
When I walked into the house, the living room was dim. Mateo was asleep in his bassinet, and Ethan was slumped on the couch, hair a mess, a burp cloth draped over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, eyes barely open.
“You survived,” I said softly, toeing off my shoes.
“Barely.”
We shared a look, quiet, tired, understanding.
I picked up Mateo just to hold him for a second, to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. And maybe to stop my own from aching.
Ethan watched me. “You were gone six hours.”
“I know.”
“You missed him.”
“I know.”
He smirked but didn’t push.
I sat beside him on the couch, closer than usual. Our shoulders almost touched. Neither of us moved.
“So?” he asked. “How was day one?”
I told him about the folder, the tasks, the granola bar. About Kara and the office buzz. I didn’t tell him about Nolan. I wasn’t sure why.
“You were right,” I said finally. “You and Mateo were fine.”
Ethan leaned his head back against the couch. “We’re all just figuring it out.”
And somehow, that made me feel better than anything else.
The next morning, a new envelope appeared on the townhouse doorstep.
Handwritten. No return address.
- Writer
