The exhaustion was a physical weight pressing into every muscle, every bone, every nerve ending. It wasn’t the kind of tired you shake off after a good night’s sleep—it was the accumulated fatigue of six months of brutal negotiations, endless conference calls across time zones, and the kind of pressure that makes your teeth ache from clenching your jaw. Three hours ago, I’d signed the papers that closed the Redpoint Analytics merger, a sixty-five million dollar deal that would position Helix Media as the dominant digital marketing agency in three countries.
My hand had cramped from signing my name so many times. Now I sat in the driver’s seat of my 2014 Honda Civic, engine idling with that familiar rattling wheeze, and stared at the suburban McMansion in front of me. The air conditioning had died somewhere around mile marker forty, and the late afternoon heat made the car feel like a mobile sauna.
I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, breathing in the smell of old upholstery, stale coffee, and the faint chemical tang of fast food wrappers I kept meaning to throw away. I should have gone home. I should have driven to my penthouse apartment downtown with its floor-to-ceiling windows and view of the city skyline, ordered expensive sushi, and slept for fourteen hours.
Instead, I was here because today was my brother Jarred’s housewarming party, and despite everything, despite years of being dismissed and underestimated, some stubborn part of me still hoped that maybe this time would be different. My phone buzzed in the cup holder. A text from my father: “Everyone’s already here.
Try not to look like you just rolled out of bed. Jarred has important friends coming.”
Important friends. The words tasted bitter even reading them silently.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror and winced. My father wasn’t entirely wrong. I looked wrecked.
My dark hair, usually pulled into a severe professional bun, was escaping in frayed strands that stuck to my neck. I wore a coffee-stained hoodie I’d grabbed from the back seat to cover the disaster of my blouse, courtesy of a clumsy intern’s collision earlier. Dark circles shadowed my eyes like bruises.
I looked exactly like what my family had always assumed I was: someone struggling to keep her head above water. Let them think it, I told myself. Let them see what they want to see.
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