Violet’s POV
I spent Monday pretending Friday night didn't rewire my fundamental understanding of what my body is capable of feeling.
It would be easier if Zachary weren't near me radiating the same carefully constructed professionalism that's fooling absolutely no one except possibly Adison.
But Adison isn't looking. Isn't seeing anything beyond the spreadsheets and reports she's weaponizing against her own exhaustion, throwing herself into work with the manic energy of someone trying to outrun grief and abandonment simultaneously.
Every time I try to catch Zachary's eye he deliberately looks away, and I understand this is the cost we agreed to pay Saturday morning over coffee that tasted like promises neither of us knows how to keep.
We're colleagues again. Strangers who happen to share an office and a secret that lives in the space between our careful avoidance of each other.
"Violet, can you pull the Q4 projections?" Adison's voice cuts through my spiral, and I force myself to focus.
"On it." I turn to my computer, hyperaware that Zachary just shifted in his chair.
The morning crawls past with excruciating slowness. Every email feels performative. Every task becomes evidence that I'm fine, totally fine, completely capable of functioning like Friday night didn't happen at all.
Zachary speaks only when necessary, his voice carrying professional neutrality that makes me want to scream or cry or cross the room and kiss him until that careful distance shatters.
I do none of those things. Just keep working like my insides aren't on fire.
By noon Adison looks like she's held together by spite and caffeine, her hand unconsciously resting on her barely-there belly in a gesture that makes my chest ache.
"Have you eaten?" I ask, watching her stare at her computer like it holds answers to questions she's too tired to articulate.
"I'll grab something later." She doesn't look up.
"Adison—"
"I'm fine, Violet." The snap in her voice carries exhaustion wearing irritation's clothes. "I just need to finish this report."
The lie lands between us like all the other lies we've been telling today, and I recognize the performance because I invented half these deflection techniques myself.
"You're not fine." I stand, moving closer. "You're running on fumes and pretending it's sustainable."
"My business. My choice." She finally looks at me, and there's something brittle in her expression. "I don't need you mothering me."
"Someone should." The words come out sharper than intended. "Since Jake's too much of a coward to be here doing it himself."
The statement detonates in the quiet office.
Zachary's typing stops. The silence that follows feels combustible.
"That's not fair." Adison's voice drops dangerously low.
"Neither is you working yourself into exhaustion because he left." I hold her gaze. "You're carrying his child, Adison. That matters more than whatever report you're using to avoid feeling abandoned."
Her face does something complicated, and for one terrible second I think she's going to cry or fire me or both.
Instead she just says: "Get back to work."
By five o'clock Adison looks like she might collapse, but she's still typing with the determination of someone who believes exhaustion is just weakness leaving the body.
"Come home." I pack my things with deliberate purpose. "You need to rest."
"I need to finish—"
"You need to remember you're pregnant." My voice softens. "Jake being gone doesn't change that. Your son needs you to be healthy."
Something in her expression cracks, just slightly, and she nods once.
Victory tastes hollow.
* * *
Later that evening I'm alone in my room, staring at my phone like it can solve problems I don't know how to fix myself.
Someone needs to do something about Jake. About the way he left Adison pregnant and sad and making catastrophically bad decisions about workload and self-care.
Apparently I'm that someone now.
I dial Tommy's number before I can talk myself out of it, and he answers on the third ring.
"Violet?" He sounds surprised and fond. "Everything okay?"
"No." I don't bother with pleasantries. "Everything is not okay. What the hell is Jake thinking?"
Tommy sighs, and I hear exhaustion threading through the sound. "He's not thinking. That's the problem."
"He's in Texas pretending distance solves anything while she works herself into the ground trying to avoid feeling abandoned." My voice rises despite my best efforts.
"I know." Tommy's voice carries the resignation of someone who's had this exact conversation multiple times. "I've been trying to talk sense into him, Violet. He won't listen. Won't engage. Just works the ranch like physical exhaustion can solve emotional crisis."
"Then try harder." The demand comes out fierce. "Find a way to make him listen."
"It's not that simple—"
"Yes it is." I cut him off, deploying every manipulation technique I've ever learned. "He loves her. He loves their son. He's just scared and running, and someone needs to stop letting him hide behind distance like it's a solution instead of cowardice."
The silence that follows stretches too long.
"Violet—"
"Please, Tommy." I soften my voice deliberately, weaponizing vulnerability. "Adison needs him here. Their son deserves both parents in one place. And Jake's going to regret this for the rest of his life if someone doesn't make him see that before it's too late."
Another pause, and then Tommy laughs quietly. "You're good at this. The whole manipulation thing."
"I learned from the best." I don't apologize for it. "Will you help?"
"Yeah." He sounds tired but certain. "I'll help. I can't promise it'll work, but I'll try."
"Thank you." Relief floods through me.
"Hold on." Tommy's voice shifts. "Paige wants to talk to you."
There's shuffling, and then Paige's voice comes through clear and competent.
"Violet, I'll help from my end too." Her tone carries the quiet certainty of someone who understands love sometimes requires conspiracy. "Between Tommy and me, we'll figure something out. Get Jake where he needs to be."
"You're amazing." The words come out genuine. "Both of you."
"We know." Paige laughs softly. "Take care of Adison until we can get Jake there to do it himself."
"I will." I promise it like an oath.
We say goodbye, and I hang up feeling like I've set something in motion that can't be stopped.
The knowledge settles into my chest—half hope, half terror—because there's no guarantee this works. No promise that Jake will listen or that Tommy and Paige can manufacture the revelation he needs.
But doing nothing felt worse than trying and failing.
I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Adison's exhausted face and Jake's absence and the way Zachary looked through me all day like I was furniture instead of the girl he made love to Friday night.
Everything is complicated.
Everything hurts.
And I'm apparently the person who fixes things now instead of breaking them, which is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.