Page 146 of Nine Months to Bear
But my hand is already reaching for the drawer where I keep spares.
No.
I pull my hand back. Drum my fingers on the empty desk. The bare wood looks wrong without the pens. Naked. Vulnerable. Like I felt last week when Mikayla pressed against me and all I could think about was vanilla and orchids.
And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? It’s not about what anyone else sees. It’s about the chaos in my own head that only goes quiet when things are exactly where they should be.
I last maybe half a minute before I’m pulling three new pens from the drawer. Black ink. Same brand. Same weight.
Only when they’re arranged back in place can I breathe again.
55
OLIVIA
The irises arrive at two-thirty in the afternoon.
White ones, two dozen of them, arranged in fancy crystal. The delivery guy needs both hands to carry them, and Camille has to clear half the reception desk just to make space.
“Holy shit.” Cami circles the arrangement, eyes bugging out. “Who died?”
“Nobody.”
“Then who’s apologizing?”
I pluck the card from between the stems. My mother’s handwriting looks back at me.
Here’s to making the right choices. —Mom.
My chest does this stupid thing where it fills with hope. Like I’m twelve again and she actually showed up to my science fair. Like maybe, finally, after everything—the clinic’s success, the Madison investment, surviving Rebecca’s attacks—maybe she’s finally proud of me.
I grab my phone and call before I lose my nerve.
She answers on the second ring. “Olivia.”
“Mom. Hi. I just— The flowers are beautiful.”
“I’m glad they arrived intact.”
“Yeah. Very… intact. Thank you.”
Awkward silence follows. I can hear her breathing, measured and controlled.
“I saw the Madison announcement,” she says finally. “Quite the coup.”
“Yeah, it’s great, right? We’re really excited about the partnership.”
“Mmm. I have to say, I’m impressed.”
The hope inflates again. “You are?”
“Landing Stefan Safonov? That takes skill. I didn’t think you had it in you. And look what it’s gotten you?”
The hope punctures. Deflates. Dies an ugly death.
“The flowers aren’t about Madison?” I ask miserably.
“Of course not. Madison’s money is pocket change compared to what Safonov can provide.” Her voice ticks over towards approval. “You’ve finally learned to use your assets wisely.”
