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LACEY
Standing outside the sleek, glass-paneled building in downtown Seattle, I can't help but fidget with the hem of my blouse. The bus ride over was long and nerve-wracking, but I knew I had to do this—for me. It's my third interview since leaving Aidan, and my nerves are a tangled mess.
Two weeks. Technically, two weeks and three days since I left.
And not even the bustling Seattle vibe, humming with near-weekend energy, can distract me from the storm of emotions inside. I glance at my phone, comforted by my dad's warm voice.
"You've got this, Larissa. You're the smartest person I know," he says, his voice rich with the unwavering confidence only a father has. His spirits have been high since we scheduled his hip surgery, which my last paycheck from Aidan made possible.
Yet, every word of encouragement is a bittersweet reminder of what—and who—I've left behind.
"I miss them, Papi. Aidan... and Grace," I confess, my voice cracking. It's been two weeks, but the ache is as sharp as ever. "But leaving was the right choice, wasn't it? For all of us?"
"There's no right or wrong in matters of the heart, Lacey. Only what's true for you," my dad says softly. "And right now, your truth is finding a path to happiness and wholeness."
"What does Mami think?"
"She says you're a strong and brave woman who knows her own mind."
"And what did she really say?"
"She said you're as stubborn as a mule, just like your father," he laughs. "And she's right, as usual."
His words are a temporary relief. Aidan and Grace were my world, their laughter and everyday moments a joy I didn't know I was missing.
But I need to stand on my own, to find a new purpose. That's my path now.
Right?
"Thanks, Papi. I better head in. Wish me luck," I say, mustering a smile he can't see.
"Always. Love you, mija."
"Love you too."
I pocket my phone and take a step towards the entrance, my heart pounding. Somewhere deep down, I wonder if Aidan misses me, if he feels even a fraction of my ache.
But I push those thoughts away, square my shoulders, and walk in, ready for whatever's next.
You got this, Lacey. You're smart, you're qualified, and you're ready to move on.
Breathing deep, I push open the heavy doors and head for the elevators.
Riding up to the 25th floor, I catch my reflection in the elevator doors. Hair pulled back, makeup subtle but professional, yet with my own flair - statement earrings and colorful heels.
A reminder that despite starting over, I'm still the girl who sketches in her cafe. Hours of prep for this fashion editorial interview have me ready, yet as I step into the lobby, nerves kick in.
The receptionist, rocking a pixie cut and a cat-on-a-skateboard tattoo, gives me an encouraging nod. "You'll do great," she whispers, a camaraderie I didn't expect.
With an internal pep talk, I walk towards the conference room.
Lacey, you've got this.You’re ready for any curveballs the universe throws your way.
Except, the universe took "curveball" too literally.
Instead of a panel, it's Vanessa Wellington, financial wiz and human ice sculpture, greeting me.
"Surprise," she says with the warmth reserved for dentist visits.
