Mark blinked.
A request.
Not a command.
“Now is fine.”
Inside her office, Victoria closed the glass door.
Then lowered the blinds.
Mark stood.
Victoria remained behind her desk for several seconds.
Finally she said, “I remember everything.”
Mark shifted.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes.”
She looked directly at him.
“I do.”
“Friday.”
“The bar.”
“My apartment.”
“Richard.”
“The things I said.”
“All of it.”
Mark placed the coffee on her conference table.
“All right.”
“I was expecting you to pretend nothing happened.”
“I considered it.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She gave a humorless laugh.
“By Saturday morning, I had drafted three different versions of how I might behave Monday.”
“Version one was pretending I had food poisoning.”
“That was apparently my dignity-preserving option.”
Mark almost smiled.
“What changed?”
“You.”
She moved toward her desk.
“And this.”
Victoria picked up a thick folder.
“I reviewed your personnel history.”
Mark frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know whether my impression of you was accurate.”
“And?”
“It wasn't.”
She handed him the folder.
Inside was a promotion letter.
Mark read the title twice.
SENIOR CREATIVE DIRECTOR.
He looked up.
“Victoria.”
“Keep reading.”
Salary adjustment.
Forty percent.
Flexible working schedule.
Authority over two creative teams.
Direct involvement in major client strategy.
“This is two levels above me.”
“I know.”
“I didn't apply.”
“You should have received it a year ago.”
Mark slowly closed the folder.
“Is this because of Friday?”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Victoria corrected herself.
“Friday forced me to look.”
“But you earned this long before Friday.”
Mark did not know what to say.
Victoria sat on the edge of the desk.
“My behavior toward you has been unacceptable.”
The sentence sounded painful for her.
“I have denied reasonable family accommodations.”
“I have treated parenthood like a professional weakness.”
“I have held you to standards I did not consistently apply to other employees.”
“And I overlooked you for promotion because I assumed your daughter made you less committed.”
Mark felt something old and angry rise in him.
“You did.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“That recital wasn’t a scheduling issue.”
“No.”
He stared.
Victoria did not retreat.
“I thought you needed to prove work came first.”
Mark laughed once, but there was no humor.
“My daughter was eight.”
“I know.”
“She looked for me in the audience.”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“I know.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“You're right.”
Silence stretched.
Mark had imagined confronting Victoria hundreds of times.
In every fantasy he was eloquent.
Sharp.
Devastating.
Now that she stood in front of him admitting everything, he mostly felt tired.
“Why me?”
Victoria looked toward the window.
“Because you had something I resented.”
“My daughter?”
“A reason to leave the office.”
Mark frowned.
Victoria continued.
“When my mother died, I decided work was the only thing that wouldn't abandon me.”
“So I built my entire identity around it.”
“I convinced myself that sacrifice proved seriousness.”
“Then you arrived.”
“Good at your job.”
“Reliable.”
“Talented.”
“And every few weeks, you reminded me that work wasn’t your whole life.”
She looked back.
“You wanted to leave for Lily.”
“Her school.”
“Doctor appointments.”
“Birthdays.”
“And instead of respecting that…”
“You punished me.”
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
Victoria’s eyes filled.
“I was punishing you for having what I lost.”
Mark said nothing.
“I don’t expect forgiveness.”
She straightened.
“But it stops.”
“Whether you accept the promotion or not.”
Mark looked at the folder.
Then at her.
“You really mean this.”
“Yes.”
His phone buzzed.
A school number.
Mark answered.
“Hello?”
The nurse explained.
Lily had developed a fever.
Probably flu.
She needed to go home.
Mark closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
He ended the call.
Victoria immediately asked, “What happened?”
“Lily’s sick.”
“Go.”
Mark instinctively reached for the folder.
“I have the Townsend presentation.”
“I’ll move it.”
“Richard specifically asked for me.”
“I’ll tell him your daughter is sick.”
Mark looked at her.
Two days earlier, she would have told him to call Mrs. Garcia.
Victoria seemed to understand what he was thinking.
“Go get Lily.”
“The presentation?”
“Your child is eight.”
She paused.
“There will be other presentations.”
Mark stared.
She had remembered her own words.
He slowly nodded.
“Thank you.”
“Take tomorrow too if necessary.”
“I can work from home.”
“Only if you want to.”
He reached the door.
“Mark.”
He turned.
“I meant what I said.”
“Things are going to be different.”
He studied her.
“I hope so.”
Three days later, Mark was working from his kitchen table while Lily slept on the couch beneath two blankets.
Her fever had finally broken.
The apartment looked like a medical supply warehouse.
Tissues.
Medicine.
Juice boxes.
Thermometer.
Three bowls abandoned in various stages of soup consumption.
Mark was answering emails when the doorbell rang.
He expected a delivery.
Instead, Victoria Winters stood in the hallway.
She held a large gift bag in one hand.
A container in the other.
Her expression suggested she would rather present to five hundred executives than stand outside his apartment.
“Hi.”
Mark stared.
“Hi.”
“This is strange.”
“Very.”
“I can leave.”
“No.”
He stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Victoria entered.
She looked around.
Mark suddenly became aware of everything.
Lily’s shoes beside the couch.
Crayon marks on one wall.
Laundry folded but not put away.
A stack of unpaid utility bills beside the refrigerator.
Family photographs.
The storybook draft half-hidden beneath his laptop.
Victoria seemed fascinated.
“It's…”
“Small?”
“I was going to say warm.”
Mark smiled.
“That too.”
She held up the container.
“Chicken soup.”
“You cook?”
“My mother did.”
“So no.”
Victoria glared.
“I followed her recipe.”
“Successfully?”
“We are about to find out.”
A small voice came from the hallway.
“Daddy?”
Lily appeared wrapped in a blanket printed with stars.
Her hair stood in every direction.
She looked at Victoria.
Then froze.
Mark knew exactly what was coming.
“This is Ms. Winters.”
Lily’s eyes widened.
“The Dragon Lady.”
Mark closed his eyes.