Updated Dec 11, 2025 • ~8 min read
OLIVER
Everything went wrong at once.
First: King Consulting lost our biggest client. Tech startup that had kept us afloat. They went with a cheaper firm. More established. Less “scandalous.”
“We’ll recover,” Tristan said. “We have other clients—”
Except we didn’t. Not enough. The revenue projections that had looked promising last month now looked catastrophic.
Second: The loft. Turned out the landlord had been embezzling from the building fund. The whole property went into foreclosure. We had thirty days to find new housing.
“It’s fine,” I told Hannah. “We’ll find something else.”
Except nothing else was affordable. Brooklyn prices had skyrocketed. Everything we could afford was too far from work, too small, or actively infested with vermin.
Third: My mother.
I got the call on a Tuesday.
“Oliver, it’s your aunt Astrid. Your mother’s sick. Cancer. Stage four. They’re saying weeks. Maybe months if she’s lucky.”
I hadn’t spoken to my mother in three years. Not since I’d walked away from King Industries. She’d called me a disappointment. Said my father would be ashamed. Told me not to come back until I’d fixed my mistakes.
Now she was dying.
“I have to go,” I told Hannah. “To Boston. See her.”
“Of course. I’ll come with you.”
“No. You have clients. The Whitman Events launch party is this weekend. I’ll go alone. Just for a few days.”
I could see her wanting to argue. Wanting to say she’d drop everything to support me.
But we couldn’t afford for her to drop everything. Whitman Events was barely breaking even. One canceled event could sink us.
“Okay,” she said finally. “But call me. Every day.”
“I will.”
I went to Boston. Found my mother in a hospital bed, looking smaller than I remembered. Frailer. Human instead of the iron woman who’d ruled Boston society.
“Oliver.” Her voice was weak. “You came.”
“Of course I came.”
“I didn’t think you would. After what I said.”
“You’re my mother. Nothing changes that.”
She started crying. Actual tears. I’d never seen my mother cry.
“I was wrong. About you. About everything.” She grabbed my hand. “Your father’s will. The company. I pushed you so hard to live up to his legacy. But you’re not him. You’re better.”
“Mom—”
“You found love. Real love. Your father never had that. Three marriages, all disasters. He died alone.” She squeezed my hand. “I don’t want that for you. I want you happy. Even if it means walking away from everything he built.”
The apology I’d waited three years to hear. Given when she had weeks left to say it.
“I forgive you,” I said. “For all of it.”
“Don’t forgive me. Just—be happy. With Hannah. Build something real.”
I stayed a week. Then two. My mother stabilized. Then crashed. Then stabilized again.
“Come home,” Tristan texted. “Company’s in trouble. Need you here.”
“I can’t,” I texted back. “My mother’s dying.”
“I know. But if you don’t come back, we might not have a company to come back to.”
HANNAH
Oliver was gone for three weeks.
Three weeks of running both companies alone. His clients, my clients, coordinating, scheduling, putting out fires.
Three weeks of morning sickness I had to hide because I hadn’t told anyone yet. Too early. Too risky.
Three weeks of watching our bank account dwindle as revenue dried up and expenses kept mounting.
“You look terrible,” Elise said, finding me throwing up in the office bathroom for the third time that week.
“Thanks. Helpful.”
“Are you sick? Or—” Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God, you’re pregnant.”
“Shh! I haven’t told anyone!”
“Does Oliver know?”
“He knows. But no one else. It’s too early. And he has enough stress dealing with his mother.”
“Hannah. You’re dealing with this alone.”
“I’m fine. I can handle—”
I threw up again. Elise held my hair.
“You’re not fine. You’re drowning. And Oliver’s not here to help.”
She was right. But what choice did I have?
I went back to work. Coordinated the Whitman Events launch party. Made it perfect. Made the client happy.
Then got home to find an eviction notice. Thirty days. The loft was gone.
I called Oliver. “We need to talk.”
“Can it wait? My mother’s doctor wants to meet tomorrow.”
“Yeah. It can wait.”
It couldn’t wait. But I didn’t know how to tell him we were losing everything while he sat beside his dying mother.
OLIVER
My mother passed three weeks after I arrived in Boston.
Peaceful. Surrounded by family. Me holding her hand.
“I love you,” I said. “I forgive you. Rest now.”
She smiled. Closed her eyes. And let go.
I stayed for the funeral. Saw cousins I hadn’t spoken to in years. Avoided the board members from King Industries who showed up to pay respects and judge me.
Dealt with lawyers and estate executors and a will that left me nothing because I’d “chosen my own path.”
I didn’t care. The money didn’t matter anymore.
But being away from Hannah did.
I came home to find our loft half-packed. Hannah exhausted. Thinner than when I’d left.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Eviction. We have two weeks to get out.” She wouldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry. I tried to find another place, but everything’s too expensive. I thought maybe we could crash with Elise again—”
“We’re not crashing with Elise.”
“Then where? Because unless one of us wins the lottery, we’re out of options.”
I looked around our almost-home. The place we’d built together. Already being dismantled.
“King Industries,” I said. “Tristan said the board wants to meet. They’re offering a settlement. I come back as CEO. They drop the remaining lawsuits. We get stability.”
Hannah stared. “You can’t be serious.”
“We need the money. The loft, the companies—everything’s failing. This solves it.”
“By going back to the prison you escaped? By giving up everything you fought for?”
“What am I fighting for if I can’t even keep a roof over our heads?”
“So that’s it? Things get hard and you run back to your father’s company?”
“I’m not running. I’m being practical.”
“You’re being a coward.”
The word hit like a slap.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. You’re choosing the easy option again. The safe option. The one that means you don’t have to struggle anymore.” Her voice shook. “What about us? What about the life we built?”
“This IS for us! To protect you. To protect—”
I stopped. Looked at her. Really looked.
She’d lost weight. Dark circles under her eyes. Exhaustion in every line of her body.
“Hannah. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” She turned away. “Go to your meeting. Accept their offer. Solve all our problems by selling your soul again.”
“That’s not fair—”
“None of this is fair!” She whirled back. “You left me alone for three weeks. I ran both companies by myself. I dealt with eviction and nausea and—” She stopped. Covered her mouth.
“Nausea?” Dread pooled in my stomach. “Hannah, the baby—”
“Is fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” But tears streamed down her face. “Just go. Do what you need to do.”
“I’m not leaving when you’re like this—”
“I’m telling you to leave. I can’t—I can’t do this right now. I can’t watch you give up and pretend I’m okay with it.”
“So what do you want me to do? Let us lose everything?”
“I want you to fight! I want you to remember why you walked away in the first place!” She was sobbing now. “But you’re not going to. You’re going to take their offer. You’re going to go back. And you’re going to resent me for it. Again.”
“I would never resent you—”
“You already do. I see it. Every time you look at our bank account. Every time another bill comes. You’re thinking about how much easier your life would be if you’d never met me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her she was wrong.
But standing in our half-packed loft, watching her fall apart, seeing our life crumble—
Part of me did wonder. What if I’d stayed with Vivian? Kept the company? Built the safe, stable, miserable life my father wanted?
I’d have money. Security. A future that didn’t involve eviction notices and failing businesses and watching my pregnant wife work herself to exhaustion.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “I’m trying to save us and you’re angry at me for it.”
“Because you’re not saving us. You’re saving yourself.” She wiped her eyes. “Go back to King Industries. Take the CEO position. Have your stable life. But don’t pretend you’re doing it for me.”
“Hannah—”
“I need space. Please. Just—go.”
I went. Because I didn’t know what else to do.
Because she was right.
I was choosing the easy option. The safe option. The coward’s option.
Again.
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