The word burrows under my skin, settles in my bones. And for the first time, I don’t feel the need to apologize for taking up space. Don’t need to swallow down the orders that rise in my throat. Don’t need to pretend I’m anything less than what I am. Instead, I press my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in sweat and skin and him. My fingers dig into his shoulder, holding on. Claiming. Being claimed.
His arms tighten around me, and something that’s been clenched tight inside me for years finally releases.
After, he presses a kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering there as if he’s trying to imprint this moment into his memory.
“I think I love you,” I say, the words falling from my lips like a revelation. “I mean, I do. Iloveyou.” A declaration and a promise all in one.
Gale’s smile is slow and sweet, spreading across his face like the first light of dawn. “I love you too,” he replies, his voice steady and sure. “More than I ever thought possible.”
As we lie there, wrapped in each other and the quiet of the night, I feel something shift inside me. I realize that true strength isn’t about never being conquered. It’s about choosing to surrender to the right person. It’s about being brave enough to open your heart, even when you know it might get broken.
Because in the end, that’s what life is all about, isn’t it? Finding the right someone worth taking the right risks for. And what I’m risking for Gale is more than my heart. It’s everything.
Which sounds about right.
“Hi, Harriet!” Hana chirps the next morning, pointing to a latte she has waiting on my desk. “Ready to knock their socks off?” We have a presentation today for current investors. It was going to be me and E.M.M.A. up against the Chads and their unimaginative chatbot that just spits out generic workout plans based on height and weight.
“Born ready,” I say, and for once, it’s not a lie. My body is sore in the best ways, and I might be in the best mood I’ve had in years. The memory of Gale yielding under my hands makes me want to strut.
The morning flies by in a whirlwind of last-minute preparations. As I stand outside the conference room, I take a deep breath. “You’ve got this,” I mutter. “You know E.M.M.A. inside and out.”
I walk in, that same confidence from last night humming through my veins. Tony adjusts his bow tie, giving me an encouraging nod. Game time.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” I begin, my voice steady. “Today, I’m excited to share our progress on E.M.M.A., our athletic performance AI. Unlike traditional coaching software, E.M.M.A. doesn’t just analyze game footage or track basic stats. She augments a coach’s expertise by processing thousands of data points—from practice performance to recovery metrics—identifying patterns human eyes might miss.”
At first, it’s smooth sailing. I show them how in an earlier trial E.M.M.A. helped coaching staff spot subtle changes in three college tennis players’ performance patterns last season, allowing for early intervention before minor issues became major injuries. But then the Q&A starts, and that’s when the cracks begin to show.
“Your projections of reducing training-related injuries by forty percent seem... optimistic,” one investor says, doubt dripping from every word.
“And what about player privacy?” another cuts in. “They might have concerns about this level of monitoring.”
“The regulatory framework for AI in professional sports is still evolving...” a third starts.
Suddenly, I’m drowning in a sea of questions, each one chipping away at my armor of confidence. The same confidence that felt so natural with Gale now feels like a liability in this room full of skeptical men. By the time I stumble out, I’m not sure if their polite smiles are encouraging or pitying. Did I come on too strong? Should I have emphasized more how E.M.M.A. supports rather than replaces human coaching?
Back in our workspace, my team’s excitement feels like sandpaper on my raw nerves. “How’d it go?” Hana asks, practically bouncing.
“Okay,” I manage, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace.
As they chatter about integration timelines and deployment schedules, doubt floods in like a tsunami. What if I’ve oversold E.M.M.A.’s capabilities? What if the teams see her as a threatrather than a tool? If the Chads’ basic performance-tracking software gets more interest than our enhanced coaching platform, how will I explain it to everyone who believed in this vision?
As the office empties and night falls, I keep working, desperate to prove I’m worthy of the team’s trust. Because the truth is, it’s not just funding I’m afraid of losing. It’s the respect and faith others have in me. E.M.M.A. has to succeed. I have to succeed. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.
Gale is on the road for a game. So when I stumble into my condo, I feed Bob and then kick off my heels with the kind of aggression usually reserved for punting a soccer ball before reopening my laptop. “E.M.M.A., activate.”
Hello, Harriet. Sensors indicate elevated stress levels. Initiating comfort protocols. Shall I order your usual “bad day” pizza?
I snort. “I’m too busy to eat. I’ve got a protein shake in the fridge.”
Acknowledged. Alternative suggestion: discuss statistical improbability of the Chads’ inferior chatbot product outperforming this unit.
“As tempting as trash-talking the tech bros sounds, I’ll pass,” I mutter, collapsing onto the couch. “I’m exhausted. I spent last night with Gale. But then had an investment meeting today that wasn’t great.”
Analyzing vocal patterns. Detecting extreme distress. Contrasts with predicted outcome of nocturnal activities with Gale. Request elaboration.
“No. No.” I feel a blush creeping up my neck. “The night with Gale was good.”
Prediction accuracy: 100%. This unit’s matchmaking proves superior once again.
