Page 13 of Brighter Together

I remember getting my bag. I remember making it to the lift. Most of all, I remember staring at my reflection in the mirrored doors on the way down and watching the colour already begin to spread beneath my eye.

By the next morning, there was no hiding it.

Purple bruising covered one side of my face, and the thought of running into anyone connected to the firm made my stomach turn. So I hid in Fellside, where nobody knew me well enough to ask why I suddenly had a black eye and why I kept finding reasons not to go back to Manchester.

For nearly two weeks, I arranged my life around the bruises. Shops at quiet times. Takeaways instead of restaurants. Hair pulled forward whenever I had to speak to someone.

Eventually the colour faded enough that concealer could deal with what remained.

Then came the job applications.

I sent my portfolio to architecture practices all over Cumbria and refreshed my inbox until the words blurred together. One rejection arrived so quickly I wondered whether anyone had even opened the attachment, while another firm sounded interested on the phone until they realised that I belong to the Grange family.

Eventually, I stopped trying.

The Grange name carried a long way in the industry, and so did the rumours. I’d heard enough conversations through half-closed doors over the years to know where some of them came from. Dad lowering his voice before discussing a competitor. Lee laughing about a planning officer who had suddenly become more cooperative. Clients being won after meetings nobody wrote down.

Nothing you could point to. Nothing you could prove.

Just enough that people knew not to get on the wrong side of them.

So I started applying for other work instead. Reception, administration, office jobs. Anything that would let me stay in Fellside, pay the rent and avoid crawling back to Manchester.

Then Greenview Manor Hotel happened.

Anna sat opposite me in an interview room and asked what I could do rather than why I’d left the family firm. A week later, she offered me the job.

I can still picture myself standing in my tiny flat afterwards, reading the email on my laptop over and over because I was convinced I must have misunderstood it.

Assistant to the hotel owner.

Permanent position.

Start date Monday.

For a while, that was enough.

Then one afternoon, the chair opposite me scraped across the floor of the coffee shop.

I looked up and found Lee sitting down as though we’d arranged to meet.

“Enough now, Ella. Come home.”

Steam rose from my hot chocolate between us. A woman was reading beside the window, two teenagers shared chips at the next table, and the barista was wiping down the counter.

People everywhere. None of them knew it, but by just being there they made me feel safer.

“No.”

Lee stared at me. “What?”

“I said no.”

His jaw tightened.

Normally that look would have been enough to make me soften the answer. I would’ve explained, apologised or found some version of it that didn’t make him angry.

Not there.