Chapter 3
1129 Words
Early the next morning, I went to knock on Fiona's door.
I knocked for a long time before her impatient voice finally came from inside.
"The baby is sleeping. Don't make a fuss," she called out impatiently.
"Open the door," I said, my voice trembling. "That's my child."
The door didn't open.
Through the door, Fiona replied indifferently, "The child is better off with me. You can't even take care of yourself right now. How can you take care of her?"
My hand pressed against the door, my fingertips going cold.
So it wasn't just a passing disdain.
They really wanted to separate me from my child.
Right then, my phone vibrated.
It was a company email.
From Brielle.
The subject line read:
Notice of Organizational Restructuring.
I opened it. After only a few lines, my heart sank.
The email said that due to my postpartum physical condition, I was temporarily unable to shoulder a high‑intensity management role. All business, projects, and approval authority originally under my charge would be transferred to Brielle.
The entire company was CC'd.
I stared at that email and suddenly laughed.
Yesterday they kicked me out of the conference room. Today they sent a company‑wide notice.
They couldn't even be bothered to pretend anymore.
Before long, a stack of handover documents was delivered outside my door.
Each one more thorough than the last.
As if afraid I'd still have a chance to turn things around, eager to strip away the last of my authority.
I sat on the sofa, flipping through them page by page, and suddenly remembered how my family had taken turns trying to talk me out of it before my marriage.
My father didn't like Aaron.
My brother was even more direct, saying all he cared about was climbing the ladder, and that he wasn't worth me sacrificing myself for.
But I didn't believe them back then.
I fought with my family, gave my father the silent treatment, and even hid my own identity, stubbornly standing by Aaron through the worst of it.
I didn't want him to know that I was a daughter of the Winslow family.
I was afraid he would overthink it, afraid he would think my motives for marrying him weren't pure.
So I squeezed into a rental apartment with him, stayed up all night with him, and ran after clients with him. Even when the Winslow family invested money into the company, I only let my father appear as an ordinary investor.
I thought that this way, I would win his genuine devotion in return.
But in the end, I offered my heart, and he only took it for granted.
So my father had been right all along.
I was such a fool.
I sat for a long time before finally picking up my phone and dialing a number.
It rang twice before someone picked up.
My father's voice came through, low and steady.
"Amara?" he said.
My throat closed up.
Growing up, I had rarely swallowed my pride like this.
Even when I married Aaron, I had acted first and informed him later.
The line went quiet for a few seconds. Father seemed to sense something already, and his voice gradually softened.
"What happened?" he asked.
I gripped my phone, tears pricking my eyes.
This time, I stopped pretending to be strong.
"Dad," I said in a low voice. "I think... I really married the wrong person."
The other end of the line was silent for a long time.
So long that my nose started to burn.
In the end, he only let out a very soft sigh.
"Amara, I've been waiting a long time for this call," he said softly.
That was when my tears finally fell.
Not because I felt wronged.
But because I was finally admitting I had been wrong.
Father didn't ask anything more. He only said softly, "Don't be afraid. Take what you need. Leave the rest to me."
I closed my eyes and responded softly.
After hanging up, I sat on the sofa for a long time.
When I looked up again, my tears had already dried.
In the afternoon, I went to the office anyway.
Several employees were standing in the elevator.
When they saw me step in, they immediately fell silent.
One of them was still holding an air freshener, instinctively hiding it behind their back.
I saw it.
But I didn't feel as awful as I had yesterday.
Some humiliations only need to be endured once.
From now on, it would be someone else's turn to suffer.
When I reached the office door, it was open.
Brielle was already sitting inside.
She looked up, her smile as gentle as ever.
"Ms. Winslow, you're here," she said.
I didn't acknowledge her. I only walked in to get my things.
The notebooks in the drawer, the fountain pen, and that half‑eaten box of lactation cookies.
When I reached the last item, she pushed a stack of documents in front of me.
"Please sign these as well while you're at it," she said.
I looked down. The document on top was a transfer of key project voting rights.
I suddenly felt like laughing.
They weren't afraid I'd come back.
They were afraid I wouldn't leave.
I closed the documents and looked up at her.
"Brielle," I said.
She paused.
I smiled at her, keeping my voice soft.
"If you're in such a hurry to take this seat, you'd better make sure you can hold onto it," I said.
Her smile froze for an instant.
I didn't look at her again. I turned and left.
When I got home, Aaron was sitting in the living room waiting for me.
Seeing the documents in my hand, his face darkened.
"Why didn't you sign?" he asked.
I set the documents on the table and looked at him quietly.
"Are you really in that much of a hurry?" I asked.
His expression was cold.
"You'd have had to sign these over eventually," he said.
"Sooner or later, or did you have this prepared all along?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He just frowned and said, "Does any of this even matter?"
I looked at him, and suddenly he felt like a complete stranger.
So a person's change of heart wasn't sudden after all.
He had calculated every step from the start, waiting for my weakest moment to give me the final shove.
He took out another document from under the coffee table and pushed it toward me.
"The board meeting is tomorrow," he said. "Sign it yourself. It's better for everyone."
I looked down at the document, my fingertips lightly pressing the cover.
Then I looked up at him calmly.
"Fine," I said. "Then tomorrow it is."
- Writer
