Olivia’s days snapped back into shape almost as soon as the dust settled. By the end of the week, her planner was bursting at the seams with color‐coded blocks: strategy meetings, video calls, client check‐ins, proposal reviews. The silence that had followed the accident felt like a distant echo now, replaced by the relentless tap of her keyboard and the low hum of brainstorming sessions.
She flourished under the pressure.
Adrian watched her from the kitchen table one bright morning. Sunlight slanted through half-open blinds, casting stripes across her desk. Olivia’s hair was twisted into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, stray strands tickling the back of her collar. She leaned over her planner, marker in hand, adding bullet points and circling deadlines in neon pink. Every so often
