Page 3 of Chloe

As I make my way to the conference room, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. My dark hair is impeccably styled, my tailored suit crisp and wrinkle-free. I look every inch the successful CEO. But my blue eyes, usually sharp and focused, seem distant today.

The conference room falls silent as I enter. Ten pairs of eyes turn to me, a mixture of respect and expectation in their gazes. I take my seat at the head of the table, the leather chair cool against my back.

“Good morning, everyone,” I begin, my voice steady and confident. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

For the next hour, I lead the meeting with practiced ease. We discuss quarterly projections, marketing strategies, and potential expansions. The board members nod approvingly as I present our latest successes. On the surface, everything is perfect.

As the meeting wraps up, Harold, one of the older board members, clears his throat. “Before we adjourn, there’s one more matter to discuss.” He pauses, his kind eyes meeting mine. “Chloe, we’ve noticed you’ve been working non-stop for months now, actually years. We cannot even think of a time in the past four years that you have taken a vacation, not even holidays. You worked through Thanksgiving just last week. With Christmas coming up, we think it’s time you took a break.”

I feel my body tense, my fingers gripping the armrests of my chair. “That’s not necessary,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m perfectly capable of managing my own time.”

Harold shakes his head gently. “It’s not a suggestion, Chloe. It’s a decision we’ve all agreed on. You need to take some time off. At least until after Christmas.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Christmas. The very thought of it makes my stomach churn. Memories of cold, lonely holidays spent in foster homes flash through my mind. The pitying looks, the secondhand gifts, the constant reminder that I didn’t belong.

“I appreciate your concern,” I say, my voice tight, “but I assure you, I don’t need a break. Especially not during the holidays.”

“Chloe,” Harold’s voice is gentle but firm, “you’ve done an incredible job building this company. But even the most successful CEOs need time to recharge. We’re not asking you to take a vacation. Just... go home. Spend some time away from the office. Enjoy the season.”

I want to argue, to insist that I’m fine, that the company needs me. But I can see the determination in their eyes. This isn’t a battle I’m going to win.

“Fine,” I concede, my tone clipped. “I’ll take some time off. But I’ll be checking in regularly, and if anything urgent comes up—"

“We’ll handle it,” Harold assures me. “You’ve built a strong team here, Chloe. Trust them to keep things running smoothly for a few weeks.”

With that, the meeting adjourns. As the board members file out, offering well-wishes for my forced vacation, I remain seated, staring out the window at the city skyline. The early December sun glints off the skyscrapers, and in the distance, I can see workers setting up an enormous Christmas tree in the city square.

My mind drifts to the small town of Benton Falls, where my grandmother’s house sits empty. It’s been years since I’ve visited, not since her funeral. The thought of spending Christmas there, alone in that old house, should be depressing. Instead, I feel a sense of relief. At least there, I won’t have to pretend to enjoy the forced cheer of the season.

Back in my office, I start making arrangements. I cancel my social engagements—not that there were many to begin with—and book a flight to the small regional airport near Benton Falls. As I pack up my laptop, Sally appears in the doorway.

“Ms. Anderson? I’ve just received an invitation for you,” she says hesitantly. “The mayor of Benton Falls is inviting you to attend their annual Tree Lighting Ceremony. It’s tomorrow night.”

How in the world would anyone know I was coming to Benton Falls? I’d only decided on the trip two hours ago. I suppress a sigh. Of course, word of my impending arrival has already spread. Small towns and their gossip. “Thank you, Sally. Please send my regrets. I won’t be attending any events during my stay.”

Sally nods, but I catch a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “Of course, Ms. Anderson. Is there anything else you need before you leave?”

For a moment, I’m tempted to ask her to cancel everything, to tell the board I’ve changed my mind. Instead, I shake my head. “No, that will be all. Thank you, Sally. I’ll see you after the New Year.”

As Sally leaves, I sink back into my chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. The thought of weeks alone in Benton Falls stretches before me, a mix of dread and strange anticipation churning in my stomach.

I close my eyes, memories of my childhood flooding back unbidden. The constant moves from one foster home to another, after my grandmother passed away. She was supposed to rescue me, to help me after my parents passed, but then she was taken too. I was left all alone in the world. I remember the pain and the loneliness. The struggle to fit in, to prove my worth. The realization that in this world, money equals security, respect, power. I’ve worked so hard to leave that scared, lonely little girl behind. To become someone strong, successful, untouchable.

But as I sit here in my plush office, surrounded by the trappings of my success, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing. That despite all I’ve achieved, there’s a hollow space inside me that no amount of money or accolades can fill.

With a sigh, I push these thoughts aside. There’s no use dwelling on the past or on vague feelings of discontent. I have a company to run, even if it’s from a distance. Opening my eyes, I compose an email to my team, outlining my expectations for their performance in my absence.

The next morning, I find myself on a small commuter plane, watching the sprawling city give way to rolling hills and dense forests. As we descend towards the regional airport, I catch my first glimpse of Benton Falls in years. From above, it looks like something out of a Christmas card—quaint buildings with snow-dusted roofs, winding streets lined with trees, a picturesque town square dominated by an imposing courthouse.

A wave of nostalgia washes over me, memories of childhood summers spent here with my grandmother. For a moment, I allow myself to remember the warmth of her hugs, the smell of her homemade apple pie, the sound of her laughter. But I quickly push these thoughts away. That was a different time, a different me. I’m here to work in peace, not to indulge in sentimental reminiscence.

As the plane touches down with a gentle bump, I steel myself for what’s to come. Four weeks in Benton Falls. I can do this. I’ll keep my head down, focus on work, and before I know it, I’ll be back in the city where I belong.

The drive from the airport to my grandmother’s house is a journey through a winter wonderland. Snow blankets the fields on either side of the road, and bare trees glisten with icicles. Despite myself, I feel a small spark of childlike wonder at the beauty of it all.

As I turn onto Maple Street, where my grandmother’s house sits, I’m struck by how little has changed. The same old Victorian homes line the street, their gingerbread trim and wrap-around porches looking like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Christmas decorations adorn every porch and yard - twinkling lights, cheerful inflatable Santas, carefully arranged nativity scenes.

And then I see it—my grandmother’s house. Or rather, my house now. The small craftsman bungalow sits back from the street, its yellow paint warm and inviting against the snowy backdrop. But as I pull into the driveway, I feel my jaw drop in disbelief.

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