The soft hum of the city filtered faintly through the office windows—a distant, muffled reminder that the world outside was still spinning, still moving forward whether she kept pace with it or not. Alexandra sat behind her desk, posture composed out of habit rather than comfort, the afternoon light pooling across the polished surface. It caught on the corner of her laptop, glinted faintly against the metal pen holder, and lingered on her phone where it rested beside a half-empty mug of coffee gone cold.
She hadn't noticed when the coffee lost its warmth. She rarely did anymore.
It had been days, and yet that moment in the café refused to fade. It surfaced when the room was quiet, when her mind had nothing else to occupy it. The startled lock of their eyes. The sudden warmth of Sam's hand catching her before she fell. The firm, unmistakably steady press at her waist. And then—almost absurd in its ease—the way my girlfriend had rolled so naturally off Sam's tongue, as if it had always been true.
Alexandra's fingers curled slightly against the arm of her chair.
A faint smile tugged at her lips, uninvited but not unwelcome.
Who just says that to their grandmother?
The image replayed again, sharper this time—Sam's expression, caught somewhere between instinct and realization, like the words had surprised even her. Like they'd slipped out before either of them had the chance to stop them.
Alexandra exhaled slowly and reached for her phone. The screen lit up at her touch, too bright in the dim calm of the office. Her thumb hovered above the screen, hesitating. She didn't open any app. She didn't type. She simply held it there, suspended in the possibility of reaching out.
"It's been days, Sammy," she murmured under her breath, the sound barely louder than a thought. Half-chiding. Half-amused. "You didn't even reach out."
She tilted her head slightly, as if waiting for a response that would never come.
The words fell into the quiet, unanswered, met only by the low hum of the air conditioner and the faint, steady tick of the clock mounted on the wall. Each second sounded louder than the last.
She set the phone back down, aligning it carefully with the edge of her desk—as if order could substitute for clarity.
A soft knock broke the stillness.
Alexandra straightened instinctively, the practiced version of herself slipping back into place. "Come in," she called, her voice calm, professional.
The door opened, and Gwen stepped inside—efficient as always, her movements precise, a neat stack of folders balanced in her arms like an extension of herself. The faint scent of jasmine followed her in, subtle but distinct, briefly displacing the sterile smell of paper and polished wood.
"Hello, Ms. Alex," Gwen said, offering a polite, familiar smile. "Here are the documents you asked for. The white folder contains the files on the investment your father was looking into before you took over."
Alexandra rose slightly from her chair to take them, then settled back again, placing the folders neatly on her desk. Her gaze lingered on the white one, though she didn't open it yet.
"Thank you, Gwen," she said. After a beat, she added, "What kind of investment was it? Was my father planning to buy into another company?" Her brow furrowed faintly. "And does Stacy know about this?"
Gwen shook her head gently, already anticipating the questions. "No, Ms. Alex. It wasn't a corporate acquisition. He was planning to use his personal funds." She paused, choosing her words with care. "He believed in the company's vision. Said their ethics and approach to the work were better than the others in the same field."
Alexandra nodded slowly, absorbing that. Her fingers brushed the edge of the white folder, just once, a fleeting touch. "That sounds like him," she murmured, more to herself than to Gwen. Then, louder, "Alright. I'll go through it and decide whether we'll continue with his plan."
"Of course," Gwen replied smoothly. "Is there anything else you need?"
Alexandra considered the question for half a second longer than necessary. "Not right now," she said at last, offering a small, genuine smile. "I'll call if something comes up."
"Understood." Gwen returned the smile, gave a small nod, and slipped quietly out, the door closing behind her with a soft, almost reverent click.
For a moment, the office was still again.
Alexandra leaned back in her chair, the faint creak of leather the only sound she made. Her gaze drifted back to the white folder, to the neat label printed in her father's old assistant's handwriting—careful, familiar, achingly recognizable.
Her chest tightened.
It had been almost a year since he was gone, and most days she functioned well enough. She handled meetings. She made decisions. She carried his legacy forward with measured confidence. But sometimes the grief returned without warning, soft and persistent, like the whisper of an old song—unexpected, familiar, and impossible to ignore.
She rested her hand on the folder, thumb tracing the edge absently, grounding herself in its solidity. "I hope I'm doing this right, Dad," she whispered, the words barely audible.
Outside, the sunlight shifted, angling lower, catching in her hair and glinting softly against the faint gold ring she still wore on her right hand. It wasn't something she talked about. It wasn't something she planned to explain.
A promise, perhaps—to the life and people she'd lost.
And maybe, just maybe, to something—or someone—new, quietly waiting to begin.