Jocelyn’s POV
The first reporter shows up at 7:45 AM, thirty minutes before the foundation officially opens.
Patricia calls my cell while I'm still in the car with Zayden. "There's a woman with a camera crew outside. Says she's from Channel 7 News, wants a statement about the Vivienne Ashford interview."
"Tell her we have no comment."
"I did. She says she'll wait."
I exchange glances with Zayden. He's driving, jaw already tight, hands gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary.
"We'll use the side entrance," he says.
By the time we arrive, there are three news vans parked across the street. Cameras pointed at our building like we're a crime scene instead of a nonprofit helping families.
David meets us at the side door, looking grim. "They started arriving at seven. I've already called NYPD to make sure they stay on public property, but there's nothing illegal about filming from the street."
"How many?" I ask.
"Five crews so far. Probably more coming once Vivienne's interview airs at nine."
We make it inside without being spotted. The foundation feels different with cameras trained on it—exposed, vulnerable, under siege.
My office phone is ringing when I walk in. I let it go to voicemail. Then it rings again. And again.
Patricia buzzes through. "Jocelyn, I have twelve media requests in the last hour. What do you want me to tell them?"
"Direct everything to Landon. No one on staff gives statements."
"Got it. Also—the Morrison Trust called. They want to schedule an 'urgent conversation about foundation leadership.'"
My stomach drops. The Morrison Trust is one of our largest donors—$1.5 million pledged over five years.
"When?"
"They said as soon as possible. Today if you're available."
I check my calendar. Packed solid—staff meeting at ten, budget review at noon, the Medical Family Support Initiative planning session at two.
And my ultrasound appointment at four.
"Tell them tomorrow morning," I say. "Nine AM."
After Patricia hangs up, I sit at my desk and try to breathe through the nausea. Stress-induced this time, not pregnancy hormones. Though with both happening simultaneously, it's hard to tell the difference.
Zayden appears in my doorway. "You okay?"
"Morrison Trust wants an urgent meeting about leadership."
His expression darkens. "They're spooked."
"They're pulling funding. Or about to." I pull up our donor database, start calculating. "If we lose Morrison, that's the Detroit expansion. Maybe the entire Medical Family Support Initiative."
"We don't know that yet."
"Why else would they want an urgent meeting?" I'm spiraling and I know it, but can't stop. "Vivienne's interview airs in ninety minutes. By noon, every major donor will have seen it. By tonight, we'll be fielding calls from everyone asking if they're funding an organization run by an abuser."
"I'm not an abuser."
"I know that, but they don't." I gesture toward the window, where camera crews are visible across the street. "All they know is what Vivienne tells them. And she's very convincing."
Zayden crosses to me, kneels beside my chair. "Look at me."
I do, reluctantly.
"We're going to get through this," he says. "One meeting at a time, one donor at a time. We'll show them our financials, our impact reports, testimonials from families we've helped. We'll give them facts instead of narratives."
"What if facts aren't enough?"
"Then we find donors who care about mission over gossip." His hand covers mine. "The foundation isn't built on celebrity. It's built on results. Families helped, lives changed, real measurable impact. That doesn't disappear because my ex-fiancée is good at PR."
I want to believe him. But my phone keeps buzzing with notifications—more media requests, more donor inquiries, more messages from people I haven't heard from in years suddenly very concerned about my wellbeing.
Maya knocks, enters without waiting for permission. "Staff meeting in five. But I need to prep you first." She closes the door. "Three reporters called asking for employee testimonials. Wanted to know if staff have witnessed 'concerning behavior' from Zayden."
"Jesus Christ."
"I shut it down hard. Reminded everyone of our media policy—no statements without approval. But people are rattled." She glances at Zayden. "Some of the newer staff don't know you personally. They're wondering if the allegations have merit."
"I'll address it in the meeting," Zayden says, standing.
"Actually…" Maya hesitates. "Might be better if Jocelyn leads this one. You defending yourself looks defensive. Jocelyn defending the foundation's mission while you're present but not centered... that reads differently."
She's right. I hate that she's right, but she is.
"Fine," Zayden agrees. "Jocelyn leads. I'm there for support, not defense."
The staff meeting is tense.
Twenty-three people crammed into the conference room, all watching me like I have answers that make sense of this chaos.
"I know you're all seeing the media coverage," I start. "I know reporters are calling, asking invasive questions, trying to get quotes about Zayden's character. Here's what you need to know: we're not engaging. Our work speaks for itself."
I pull up the impact report on the projector. Numbers that can't be argued with.
"Last quarter, we served 847 families. Provided 12,000 hours of childcare. Helped 94 families navigate medical debt. Connected 156 people to employment opportunities." I let the numbers sink in. "That's what this foundation does. That's what matters. Not a celebrity drama. Not PR campaigns. Results."
"But what about the donors?" someone asks from the back. I think it's Jeremy from intake. "If they pull funding, we can't help anyone."
"Then we find new donors. Ones who care about mission alignment over optics." I meet his eyes. "Yes, this is scary. Yes, we might lose some funding. But we've been through worse and survived. We'll survive this too."
"What if they're right?" Another voice, quieter. Sarah from medical advocacy. "What if there's truth to what Vivienne's saying?"
The room goes completely silent.
Zayden tenses beside me, but I put my hand on his arm. This is my answer to give.
"I've worked with Zayden for three years," I say carefully. "I've seen him under pressure, under scrutiny, under stress. I've watched him build this foundation from his father's blood money into something that actually helps people. I've seen him with his daughter, with our staff, with families who need support."
I pause, making sure everyone's listening.
"I'm not going to stand here and tell you Zayden's perfect. He's demanding, stubborn, occasionally insufferable."
A few people smile despite the tension.
"But he's not what Vivienne's describing. And if you have doubts, I encourage you to make your own assessment based on what you've actually witnessed, not what a PR campaign wants you to believe."
The room empties slowly. A few people catch my eye on the way out—Jeremy gives a tight nod, Sarah's expression is softer than when she asked the question, and two of the program coordinators murmur "thank you" as they pass.
Not everyone looks convinced, but the fear has receded into something more like cautious trust. Enough to keep moving forward. Enough for today.
Zayden and I return to my office.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For defending me."
"I was defending the foundation. You just happen to be part of it."
He almost smiles. "Still. Thank you."
My phone buzzes. Reminder: Ultrasound appointment - 4:00 PM.
Eight weeks pregnant today. First time we'll actually see the baby on screen. Hear the heartbeat, confirm viability, start the genetic screening process.
"You're still coming, right?" I ask, even though he's promised three times already.
"Wouldn't miss it." He pulls me close. "Reporters, donor meetings, media circuses—none of it matters more than seeing our baby for the first time."
"Even if Morrison pulls their funding this morning?"
"Even then." He kisses my forehead. "We have priorities now. Family first, foundation first, everything else is noise."
"That's a lot of firsts."
"Then let's call them tied for first." His hand moves to my stomach. "Four o'clock. I'll be there. I promise."
By noon, Vivienne's interview has aired and the foundation's phone lines are overwhelmed. Donors, reporters, random people with opinions about relationships they know nothing about.
Patricia stops fielding calls and starts sending everything to voicemail.
The Morrison Trust meeting is tomorrow at nine. The Silverstein Foundation wants a call this afternoon. Three smaller donors have already sent emails "pausing" their commitments pending "clarity on leadership."
And in three hours, I'll be lying on an exam table watching a tiny heartbeat flicker on a screen while the world tries to burn down everything we've built.
Priorities, I remind myself. Family tied for first with foundation.