My inbox is overflowing with spam, promo deals I can’t afford, and student loan reminders.
I almost miss it.
The subject line:
FWD: London Natural History Museum Opportunity
My heart skips.
I click.
Dear Ms. Hawkins,
I noticed you had been corresponding with Dr. Edward Farnsworth regarding a potential winter internship at the London Natural History Museum.
You must be very talented to have caught the attention of such a respected department head.
I took the liberty of forwarding your interest to a few key connections, and I am pleased to inform you that Dr. Farnsworth has now formally invited you to work under him over Christmas break. Should you accept, I am certain doors will continue to open for you in this field.
I trust you will make the right choice.
Warm regards,
Eleanor Spencer
I freeze.
No.
No, this can’t be happening.
I scroll down, hands trembling, and see the email chain I originally sent months ago. The one where I asked—on a whim—if there were any short-term work experiences available at my dream museum.
Farnsworth had replied politely, saying the program was competitive but he’d keep me in mind.
And now?
Now he’s signed off with:
We look forward to welcoming you this December, should you choose to accept.
I feel like throwing up.
Alfie’s mother didn’t just pull strings—she reached inside my life and twisted it.
She’s giving me exactly what I want.
Dangling it like a deal.
And I already know the unspoken terms.
If I accept this, if I take one step closer to everything I’ve ever wanted, I have to let go of him.
I can’t breathe.
Because for one horrible second, I actually think about it.
About how easy it would be.
