The door swings shut behind me with a satisfying thud, cutting off their sputtered outrage.
For the first time since coming back home, I feel like I won.
Four
I find a secluded spot at the edge of the reception on thedock overlooking the lake, where the glow of lanterns gives way to shadows. At the edge of the water, the humid air presses against my skin, thick with the croak of toads and the rhythmic hum of crickets.
I lift the champagne flute, downing what’s left in one long sip. The bubbles fizz through my bloodstream, numbing the edges of my thoughts.
Now that I’m alone—no Mackenzie, no Amanda, no wedding drama or job-hunt stress—it hits me.
I am fucking exhausted.
I am so tired of clawing my way toward a future that keeps getting yanked out from under me. Of almost making it. Of falling short. Of failing. Of knowing that, in less than a month, I will have nothing left.
No apartment. No money. No plan.
And why? Because I believed in myself? Because after ten years of working my ass off—of grinding through eighty-hour weeks, of sacrificing sleep and sanity, ofbuilding a career out of nothing but sheer fucking determination—I thought I had earned my place.
A bitter laugh catches in my throat.
I was supposed to be safe.
I was supposed to have finally made it.
Being the Director of Marketing for the biggest publishing house in New York wasn’t just a job. It was everything.
I had connections, I had momentum, I had a future.
I wasn’t just coordinating launch parties for debut authors—I was rubbing elbows with editors, with CEOs and CFOs, with the very people who could have launched me into the next stage of my career.
And then one day, out of fucking nowhere, they called me into HR and told me it was clear I wasn’t ready for the promotion. That they’d already filled my old position. That they had no choice but to let me go.
I had to sit there, smiling through a meeting to keep from sobbing, while they danced around the real reason they were letting me go.
I wasn’t good enough.
I thought I was. I thought I was ready for that promotion five years ago, but clearly, I was wrong.
My boss looked me in the eye and told me Iwasn’tready for the next step in my career.
Maybe I never will be.
Maybe the future I built my whole life around is just a story I tell myself—one more thing I want so badly that I can’t see the truth staring me in the face.
And now?
Now, I have three weeks left on my lease and an overdrafted checking account.
Now, I have LinkedIn rejection emails clogging myinbox and exactly zero prospects on the horizon.
Now, I’m staring down a future I never planned for, a future where I crawl back to my parents’ house, humiliated, broke, and a failure.
And the worst part? The ugliest, most shameful part?
There’s one person who could fix all of it.
One person who has the power to put me back on my feet with a single phone call.
