David didn’t rush me, and it was the most disarming thing anyone had ever done.
Our first dinner lasted three hours. He asked questions that weren’t traps. When I deflected, he didn’t punish me—he just stayed present.
At my door, he said, “I had a really good time.”
“Me too,” I admitted.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
Consent, clear and simple, offered without assumption.
My throat tightened. I nodded.
The kiss was gentle, unhurried. Not possession. Invitation.
In therapy, I told Dr. Sarah about him and tried not to sound hopeful.
“What do you notice?” she asked.
“That I keep waiting for him to flip,” I said. “Like one day he’ll reveal he was only nice to get something.”
She nodded. “Your nervous system learned closeness can be a setup.”
“I don’t want to punish him for what someone else did.”
“Then don’t,” she said. “Let him be who he is. Take your time.”
So I did.
We walked by the lake. Tried new restaurants. Cooked at my apartment. He chopped vegetables like a man who knew what he was doing, and I pretended not to be impressed.
One night, he asked gently, “Do you want to talk about what brought you to Toronto?”
The lock rattled.
“Not yet,” I said.
He nodded. “Okay. Whenever. Or never.”
No sulking. No guilt.
Just respect.
Then Northbyte announced an acquisition. The office buzzed with excitement layered over fear.
Nadine pulled me into a meeting with the incoming exec team.
A silver-haired man said, “We want you leading marketing across the combined organization.”
I blinked. “Leading…as in—”
“VP of Marketing,” he said. “If you’re willing.”
The title hit like thunder.
VP.
The same position my father had used as bait for Alex.
Now it was being offered to me because I earned it.
I muted my mic for half a second so no one heard my sharp inhale.
“I’m willing,” I said.
After, I sat still, hands shaking—not fear, just weight.
For one foolish moment, I imagined calling my father just to tell him.
Then I laughed and called my mother instead.
She cried. David showed up with champagne because Rachel had alerted him with enough exclamation points to qualify as emergency sirens.
“To Vice President Emma,” he toasted.
I smiled so hard it almost hurt.
Then my brother Michael called.
“Em,” he said, nervous. “I’m getting married.”
I froze. “What?”
“Sarah said yes. July. Country club. Family.”
My stomach tightened. I already knew what “family” included.
“Dad will be there,” Michael said quickly. “Jessica too. And Alex. But I’m not asking you to forgive anyone. I just want you there. You’re my sister.”
I pictured Michael as a kid—the peacekeeper, surviving by being lovable enough no one aimed at him.
He didn’t deserve to lose his wedding to my father’s damage.
“Let me think,” I said.
“Take your time,” he replied.
After I hung up, David sat beside me.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like I’m walking into a room where I used to bleed,” I admitted.
He didn’t flinch. “What would it mean to go?”
It would mean I survived.
It would mean they didn’t get to exile me from my own life.
It would mean I could stand near my father and not fold.
“It would mean I’m free,” I said.
David took my hand. “Then we’ll go. If you want. And if you don’t, we won’t. Either way, you’re not doing it alone.”
I called Michael back.
“I’m coming,” I said.
“And I’m bringing my boyfriend.”
Michael whooped like joy could be loud.
David kissed my cheek. “Ohio in July,” he murmured. “I hear it’s humid.”
I laughed—and it felt like the first honest step toward a past that no longer owned me.
