~ SEASONS OF HER~

MOVING FORWARD

Vanessa leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Catherine.”

“Vanessa.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

"You are," she shot back. "You’re shutting it down because it makes you uncomfortable because stepping into the spotlight isn’t something you let yourself do easily."

“Everyone seems to be of that opinion lately'', I say, my expression unreadable.

“That is not a crime.”

“No, but it’s predictable.”

Her comment stung, and that unsettled me.

I picked up my coffee again, taking a moment. “It is not my world.”

“It’s mine,” she said. “And I want you in it.”

I shook my head. “There are professionals who can do that.”

“I don’t want professionals,” she said simply.

I looked at her.

Really looked.

There it was: the edge beneath her confidence. Vanessa did not make requests lightly.

“I’m building something that means something to me,” she continued. “And I don’t want strangers representing it.”

Her voice softened, just slightly.

“I want women who matter.”

An ache fluttered in my chest; her words unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

“You don’t need me for that,” I said quietly.

“I do,” she replied. “Because you don’t even realise what you carry.”

I was the first to look away.

Of course I did.

Vanessa exhaled and leaned back. “It is not just about appearance. It is about presence, about owning space, about women who have endured challenges and remain unbroken.”

My fingers tightened slightly around my cup.

“You make it sound very poetic,” I said.

“It is poetic,” she replied. “You simply do not like being its subject.”

Silence stretched between us.

“You do not have to decide now,” she added. “Just do not avoid it.”

I let out a slow breath.

“I’ll think about it.”

Vanessa smiled, confident in my response. “That is all I need.”

By the time I entered the office, I had already set that conversation aside, placing it in a controlled space where it could not interfere with my priorities.

“Elise,” I acknowledged as I walked in.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Your 11:30 is in the conference room”.

“Grab my tablet. “

“Yes, ma’am.”

The conference room became quiet as soon as I entered.

Eyes shifted.

Attention followed.

In that moment,

I regained control.

“Good morning,” I said, setting my tablet down. “Let’s begin.”

The presentation flowed easily.

It always did.

Design was never a struggle for me. It was instinctive, precise, and a language I understood effortlessly.

By the end of the meeting, they were convinced.

They always were.

The rest of the day moved in layers.

Emails.

Calls.

Adjustments.

Decisions.

I managed each task efficiently, without hesitation or error.

This was where I didn’t falter.

This was where I didn’t hesitate.

This was mine.

Late in the afternoon, Elise knocked softly on my office door.

“Come in.”

She stepped in, holding her tablet. “Ma’am, there’s an email I think you should see.”

I didn’t look up immediately. “From?”

“The spotlight show.”

That made me pause.

I lifted my gaze slowly. “THE spotlight show ?”

She stepped closer, turning the screen toward me.

I read it once.

Then again.

Interview request.

Feature profile.

Catherine Laurent Designs.

I felt my jaw tighten and a faint heat rise in my chest.

“They’re requesting an in-depth feature,” Elise added carefully. “They want to highlight your work, your growth… your story.”

Of course they did.

My story.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly.

“And?” I asked.

“They’re asking for your availability.”

I looked at the screen again.

Then away.

An interview meant visibility.

Questions.

Attention.

The kind that didn’t stop at business.

"They’ll want more than just the work," I said quietly, because I knew from experience that interviews always slid into the personal territory I avoided whenever possible.

Elise didn’t respond.

She didn’t need to.

We both knew it.

My gaze drifted toward the window, the city stretching endlessly beyond it.

Control.

That word again.

“Do you want me to decline?” she asked.

I didn’t answer immediately.

Because part of me already knew what I would usually do.

Step back.

Avoid.

Protect.

But Vanessa’s voice echoed faintly in my mind.

Don’t run from it.

I closed my eyes briefly.

Then opened them.

“No.”

Elise stilled slightly.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

When I spoke, the words carried more weight than I anticipated, throbbing between pride and fear.

But they stayed.

Real.

Certain.

“Alright,” she said with a small nod. “I’ll respond.”

She turned to leave, then paused. “It’s a good opportunity, ma’am.”

I gave a faint nod. “I know.”

After she left, the room felt even quieter.

Not empty.

Just… still.

I looked down at my hands.

Steady.

Controlled.

But beneath the practised calm, something restless pressed forward.

A step forward.

One I didn’t take lightly.

One I wouldn’t take back.