Page 116 of True Colors

“Anouk, I am so sorry for my reprehensible behavior.”

His words are dramatic, but his delivery is not. This is not theater. This is authentic.

His expression softens, and I see regret, stark, in his eyes. “I can’t undo what I did. But I am taking responsibility for it.”

I nod. I accept his apology. I don’t know if I can ever forgive him or even forget this, but I believe he’s truly repentant, and I respect that.

He turns to the rest of the team. “Effective immediately, any presentation of the data on this project will be led by Anouk…if she chooses.”

All eyes fall on me.

I don’t like being the center of attention, but this time it feels different, not like they’re criticizing me or seeing fault, but are looking at me with respect and expectation.

Well, everyone except that bitch, Erin. She seems angry enough to strangle me.

Score!

“Anouk”—Luther says my name as a plea—“I understand that apologies don’t repair harm on their own, but they do if they’re combined with changed behavior, consistently, and over time. I’m committed to that—whether or not I’m forgiven.”

I don’t know what I expected—relief, vindication, closure—but what I feel instead is more complicated.

I know people can apologize, beautifully and insincerely, when it suits them.

I’ve seen remorse bloom the moment a consequence appears.

Erin’s failure at the board meeting hovers at the edges of my thoughts, unwanted but persistent.

Is all this because he lost face? Or because he found his spine?

I can’t tell yet.

“Luther, thank you,” Dot is the first to speak. “Your best qualities have always been your curiosity and humility—which I worried you’d lost in your pursuit of perceived perfection. I’m glad to see you’re still willing to learn, still willing to look at your mistakes with clear eyes.”

Luther’s expression softens, almost brightens.

Dot’s approval matters to him. I know he respects her deeply.

I want to say something, to meet Dot’s grace with my own. But the words are tangled inside me. There’s too much emotion to sort through, too much uncertainty about what I feel and what I’m ready to say. And underneath it all is the familiar fear—that I’ll stutter, that I won’t be able to articulate myself the way I want to.

What Luther did didn’t just hurt my feelings—it fractured my confidence. Being told that no matter how prepared I am, I won’t be board-facing—that my work isn’t enough—left a mark that an apology alone can’t erase.

Rebuilding my faith in myself will take time, and it’s work I have to do on my own. Learning to be comfortable with my stutter again is part of that process.

His apology matters, but healing isn’t something he can do for me.

“So, what are the next steps?” Vijay brings us back to business.

Luther doesn’t look at me again and goes through how we move forward.

There will be another meeting, and he will book that after talking to me, as I will be the only presenter.

Right! No. That’s not happening. No way.

When it’s over, people filter out quietly.

I stay seated.

So does he.