Page 8 of Julian

You were one of the best representatives we had, Harper. Not because you hit metrics, though you did, but because you genuinely cared about the people on the other end of the line. That kind of empathy is rare. I know how much you needed this job, and I hate that this is how you’re finding out.

My throat constricts. A burning sensation rushes up my spine.

Please know this has nothing to do with your performance. These changes are sweeping and impersonal, and they do not reflect your talent or potential. I believe in you deeply, and I hope you’ll stay in touch. If there’s anything I can do to support you, I will.

With regret and admiration,

Julie

I lower the termination letter. The apartment, which just seconds ago had returned to a level of acceptable stability, is suddenly unsteady. Beau lifts his head from the floor and looks at me, sensing the shift.

Income.

Flexible hours.

My livelihood.

All… gone.

I glance toward the fridge, where Dylan’s plate sits neatly covered in foil, and the weight of it presses down harder than the smoke alarm ever did. I stand there in the kitchen, Julie’s letter still in my hand, and realize that everything just changed.

The letter slips from my hand onto the counter.

For a what feels like an eternity, I stare at the box of my things like they belong to someone else. Someone with a steady paycheck and a plan. Effective immediately. The words echo in a flat, corporate voice that doesn’t care how rent gets paid.

This job was supposed to be the stepping stone. The foot in the door. The industry access. It was how I learned what customers hated, what they returned, what they wished someone would fix. It was also how I paid the bills.

My eyes drift across the kitchen to the stack of envelopes I’ve been avoiding.

They’re not subtle.

Vet bills from Beau’s emergency visit. Grocery receipts folded into statements. Utilities with bright red due dates. Rent circled twice in pen. And underneath, the medical bills from Dylan’s horrible bout with the flu last month—sterile, heavy, unavoidable.

My stomach cramps and I think I might be sick.

Beau pads over and sits in front of me, looking up with those big brown eyes that always seem to know when something goes awry. I crouch down and pull him into my arms, pressing my face into his fur. He leans into me without hesitation, solid and warm and unaware of corporate takeovers.

“I didn’t plan for this,” I whisper. He exhales softly against my shoulder.

How do I replace that income? How do I keep everything balanced? How do I not let Dylan see the crack in the foundation?

I pull back and hold Beau’s face between my hands. Those soulful eyes stare at me with a steadiness I need. He trusts me to care for him, just as Dylan does, and I won’t let them down. “I’ll figure it out,” I say, even though my chest feels uncertain. “I promise.”

His tail thumps once against the cabinet.

Across the room, the bills sit in their pile. The fridge hums. The apartment seems to close in around me.

But I stay there on the kitchen floor, holding him, because there isn’t another option.

I will figure it out. I have to.

Chapter 3

Julian

Percy opens the front door before I reach it, timing the movement perfectly, as always.

“Your car is waiting.”