A Sacrifice Made
1523 Words
Chapter 2: A Sacrifice Made
Beatrice knew the odds. Her fingerprints were all over the company’s most celebrated project of the last five years. The blueprint design, the structural reinforcements, the client meetings—she had carried it from conception to near completion. Everyone expected her to be promoted. Even Noel.
Beatrice stood in the elevator, watching the floor numbers tick by as her reflection stared back at her through the silver doors—calm, composed, successful. And yet, the war inside her chest made it feel like the ground beneath her had already begun to shift.
Outside, the city roared with life. Inside her apartment that night, there was only silence and a lukewarm cup of chamomile tea she’d forgotten to drink.
She sat on her balcony, the cool breeze brushing her skin, and tried to convince herself that what she was about to do was right. That it was love, not foolishness. That sacrifice meant strength, not weakness.
The stars above blinked quietly, the same stars under which Noel had once held her hands and said:
“When I get this promotion… let’s get married.”
Not if—when. His voice had trembled with hope and a quiet desperation. And something in her heart had ached for him then, a man so capable but constantly overlooked, always a step behind someone else.
She had seen his sleepless nights. The red-rimmed eyes behind his tired smiles. How he tried so hard to prove himself in a world that rarely gave men like him a fair chance.
And she loved him.
She truly did.
Which is why, the next morning, she stepped into Mr. Granger’s office with her chin high, even as her chest tightened.
“Beatrice,” Granger greeted, gesturing for her to sit. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to talk to you about the promotion decision,” she began.
He blinked. “I assume you’re ready to prepare for the transition? The announcement’s being drafted.”
“No,” she said, her voice steady. “I’m here to recommend someone else for the role.”
He leaned back slowly, brows furrowed. “You’re recommending… who?”
“Noel Lambert.”
Granger’s eyes narrowed. “You’re aware that you’re the front-runner. You practically carried the Crossridge Tower project from the ground up. And you’ve mentored Lambert.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But he’s ready. He’s put in the work, and he deserves the spotlight. I’m not saying I didn’t earn it too—but I can wait. He needs this more right now.”
“Beatrice, do you understand the gravity of this?” Granger asked, voice softer now. “You could be passing up your biggest step forward in the firm. Why do this?”
She hesitated. Then gave him the most honest answer she had.
“Because I love him. And I believe in him. And sometimes… you build someone else up so that they can finally see what they’re capable of.”
Granger studied her for a long, heavy moment. Then nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll respect your request.”
When she walked out of the room, she kept her shoulders straight. But behind her smile was a quiet ache.
The announcement came the following Monday.
Beatrice stood near the back of the break room, heart hammering as Mr. Granger pinned the notice to the corkboard with slow precision.
“Congratulations to Noel Lambert – New Project Head.”
A thunder of applause broke out. Cheers echoed. People clapped him on the back, handed him coffee, shook his hand. He laughed—genuinely, openly. Noel had always wanted to be seen.
His eyes finally found hers across the crowd. Something flickered there—gratitude, maybe, or guilt.
He broke through the group and wrapped her in a hug.
“I did it,” he whispered, breathless.
She smiled, arms around him even as her chest squeezed. “You did.”
“God, Beatrice, I couldn’t have done this without you. I mean it—you pushed me, you supported me... I owe you everything.”
She looked up at him and tried to hide the c***k forming in her voice. “You owe me dinner. And maybe a ring.”
He grinned wide, eyes crinkling. “Soon. I promise.”
“Don’t take too long,” she joked softly. “I gave up a lot betting on you.”
He pulled back, brows raised. “Wait. What do you mean?”
Her smile faltered—but only for a second. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s your day. Enjoy it.”
But as he turned back to the celebration, something in her gaze dimmed.
She had traded her dream for his. And now, as she watched him bask in the limelight, surrounded by congratulations and admiration, a sliver of fear crept in.
What if the man she lifted up forgot the hands that held him steady?
What if she gave away a piece of herself… that she wouldn’t get back?
The award nomination came on a Tuesday. A crisp, white envelope slid under Beatrice’s office door, embossed with gold lettering: Metropolitan Design & Build Excellence – Finalists.
She read it twice. The project she and Noel had co-led—the Horizon River Development—had been nominated.
She grinned and dialed his number. “Noel. You’re not going to believe this.”
But he didn’t pick up.
She texted: “We’re finalists. We did it!”
No reply.
A few hours later, he popped his head into her office. “Hey—heard we made the list.”
“You heard?” she blinked. “I texted you hours ago.”
He scratched his head. “Yeah, sorry. My phone’s been crazy. Susane's team needed some urgent revisions on the Northbridge site.”
“Susane?” Beatrice asked, trying to keep her tone even.
“Yeah, she’s been shadowing me. Wanted some help navigating the proposal language.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that outside your scope?”
He shrugged. “Just being a team player.”
She smiled, but something twisted in her chest. A sliver. A shift.
That night, he canceled dinner.
“Rain check? Swamped. Let’s do Thursday.”
But Thursday came and went. Meetings bled into nights. Texts became brief. Conversations, rushed.
Two weeks later, they presented their Horizon pitch to the board. Beatrice arrived early, polished and prepared.
Noel walked in five minutes before the meeting, flustered.
“Late night?” she asked, brushing imaginary dust off his lapel.
“Yeah,” he said, dodging her eyes. “Susane’s proposal needed last-minute edits. Stayed late to help.”
Beatrice forced a smile. “You know, she does have a whole team.”
“She’s just trying to make a name for herself,” he said. “Don’t be harsh.”
“I’m not,” she replied. “I’m just wondering when you started working for her instead of with me.”
He blinked. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” she said softly, “what’s not fair is me falling in love with someone I thought would build something with me—only to feel like I’m slowly being left behind.”
The meeting was called to order before he could reply.
That weekend, Beatrice sat on her balcony, nursing tea that had long gone cold.
When Noel finally showed up, he had wine and a tired smile.
“I’m sorry,” he said, placing the bottle on the table. “I’ve been buried. Just trying to keep up.”
“With Susane?”
He sighed. “Why does it always come back to her?”
“Because I see the way you look at her. The way your face lights up when you talk about her projects.”
“I look at you the same way.”
“No, Noel,” Beatrice said, standing. “You used to.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not cheating on you.”
“I know you’re not—at least not with your body. But your focus? Your loyalty? That’s already left the room.”
Silence.
Finally, he said, “You don’t get how hard it is, Bea. The pressure to rise. To be seen. Everyone expects me to keep showing up perfect.”
“And I don’t?”
“You always seem so certain of who you are. You don’t need me the way she does.”
Beatrice’s voice cracked. “I never needed you to complete me, Noel. I needed you to stand with me.”
That night, he left with barely a goodbye.
And Beatrice sat alone in the home they once dreamed of sharing, surrounded by the plans they made—and the silence that now echoed between them.
Because sometimes love doesn’t end in screaming or betrayal.
Sometimes, it just... drifts.
And one day, you look around and realize: the person who once helped you build the foundation is now the one who’s quietly tearing at the beams.
- Writer
