Elle's POV
The cardboard box weighs almost nothing, but my arms ache like I've been carrying it for years.
I set another folder inside—the last of my personal files—and press my palms flat against my desk.
Through the glass partition, Vivian's office door stays firmly closed. She hasn't emerged once since this morning.
Is she avoiding me?
The thought twists beneath my ribs. I've worked beside this woman for four years. I know when she's burying herself in distractions.
I watch her shadow move behind the frosted glass, and something raw claws at my throat.
Who will remind her to eat when she works through lunch? Who will care for her the way I—
I stop the thought before it spirals further. These aren't my concerns anymore. They can't be.
The morning crawls past in agonizing increments.
I reorganize files that don't need reorganizing. I write transition notes so detailed they border on obsessive. I do everything except walk through that door and say what I actually need to say.
You're a coward, Elle Wyeth.
For four years, I've had a purpose that belonged to me alone. Work that mattered. A woman who trusted me with the details of her empire, even if she never knew she was trusting me with pieces of her heart too.
By three o'clock, I can't stand the silence anymore.
Vivian's door opens briefly for a delivery, and I catch a glimpse of her at her desk—shoulders rigid, jaw tight, eyes fixed on documents I know she's not actually reading.
The careful distance she's maintained all day speaks for itself.
She won't come to me. She's too stubborn to admit this matters.
If I want to say goodbye properly, I'll have to be the one to cross this distance.
I seal my cardboard box and lift it against my hip. My legs feel unsteady as I approach her office.
One last time. Just let me see her one last time.
I knock at 3:47, and her voice calls me inside.
Vivian doesn't stand when I enter. She stays behind her desk like it's a fortress, and the coldness in her expression makes something fracture inside my chest.
"I wanted to say goodbye properly," I manage, stepping inside. "Before I go."
"I'm disappointed," she says. "I can't believe you're abandoning your responsibilities like this, with no real explanation, no transition period, and no consideration for the impact your sudden departure will have on operations we've spent four years building together."
I'm not abandoning you. I would never abandon you if I had any choice at all.
I set the cardboard box on the chair and meet her gaze, willing my composure to hold against the tide rising in my chest.
"If I could stay, I would," I say quietly. "But this isn't something I can control, Vivian. I wish it were different, truly, but some decisions are made for us, and all we can do is accept them with whatever grace we can manage."
Her name feels dangerous on my tongue, too intimate for what we are, too honest for what we can never become.
She opens her desk drawer and slides an envelope toward me.
"You've earned it."
I pick it up with trembling fingers. Inside, a check bears a number that steals my breath.
"This is too much," I shake my head slowly. "This is easily triple what standard severance would require, and I haven't given you proper notice, and I don't deserve—"
"Your grandfather just died," Vivian says, and her voice softens in a way that threatens to undo me completely. "Consider it help."
Don't be kind to me. Please. I can barely hold myself together as it is.
"Why?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "You could have let me walk out with nothing, and no one would have blamed you for it."
"Because four years should mean something," she says.
The honesty in her words wraps around my heart like a vice.
"Because you've given this company more than anyone will ever know, and because I refuse to let you leave thinking that none of it mattered."
Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink rapidly, fighting to maintain what's left of my control.
"It mattered," I whisper. "All of it."
You have no idea how much.
I tuck the envelope into my blazer and reach for the box. This is it—the ending I've dreaded since the moment that summons arrived.
"I hope everything works out," I say at the threshold, memorizing the architecture of her face. "Whatever comes next for you, I hope you find what you're looking for."
"And what about you?" Vivian asks quietly. "What are you looking for?"
The question pierces something deep and raw, a wound I've kept hidden beneath years of professional distance.
"I stopped looking a long time ago," I admit. "Now I just do what's required."
"Take care of yourself, Elle. Whatever this is, I hope it's worth it."
It's not. It never will be.
I turn toward the door, and my body refuses to cooperate.
My feet root themselves to the floor as panic floods my veins—the desperate, clawing realization that once I walk through that door, I will never stand this close to her again.
I can't leave like this. I can't walk away without knowing what it feels like to hold her.
The thought doesn't finish before I'm moving.
I set down the cardboard box and cross back to her desk, my pulse thundering in my ears.
Just once. Let me have this just once.
My arms wrap around her before reason can intervene—fast, desperate, and utterly reckless.
I pull her close and feel her freeze against me.
Remember this. The warmth of her. The way she fits against you like something you were always meant to find and never allowed to keep.
A tremor runs through my shoulders. Her scent fills my lungs.
I've breathed it a thousand times without ever letting myself acknowledge why it felt like home.
She doesn't push me away. She doesn't pull me closer. She simply stands there, paralyzed, and the stillness in her body almost breaks my heart.
I release her too quickly, heat flooding my cheeks as I step back. Tears blur my vision, and I swipe at them uselessly.
"I loved this job," I say.
My voice is thick with everything I can never confess.
"Leaving still hurts more than I expected it to, and I want you to know that none of this is about you, or the company, or anything you could have done differently. Thank you, Ms. Cross, for everything you've given me these past four years."
I grab the box with shaking hands and walk toward the elevator, every step a small death.
Don't look back. If you look back, you'll never leave.
The elevator doors slide open. I step inside and press the button for the lobby, my fingers trembling despite my best efforts.
Through the narrowing gap, I see Vivian standing frozen in the hallway, her hand pressed against her chest where my arms had been.
The doors close, and I let the tears fall.
I will spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened if I'd been brave enough to stay.