You Were Better When I Was Gone Chapter 08
I explained the Sophie situation to my Director, who took it well: “As long as it’s handled.”
I also apologized to the client. Fortunately, they weren’t fazed. We scheduled a formal call for the next day. Everything stayed on track.
But that night, Luke messaged me. “Sarah, Sophie’s been crying all afternoon.”
By now, I was calm. “And that’s my problem?”
“She said you yelled at her.”
“I didn’t yell. I told her to stay out of my work.”
“She was just trying to help”
“Luke.” I cut him off. “She called my client’s office and pretended to be my proxy. That’s not ‘help.'”
A long pause. Then: “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. She called the client contact and told them to route everything through her.”
Another long silence. Then: “Why would she do that?”
I let out a laugh. “Ask her. Not me.”
This time, he didn’t make excuses for Sophie. He didn’t message again.
The next day’s call went perfectly. The client loved the proposal and confirmed the first-phase cooperation on the spot.
After hanging up, I stared at my screen for a while. A million-dollar deal lost back home, and now I was picking up an even bigger one in London.
Not to prove anything. Just to know, finally, that I wasn’t the one who couldn’t get things done.
That afternoon, Nathan messaged: “Congrats on landing the project. Lunch today?”
“How’d you know?”
“Your Director’s a friend of mine.” He sent an emoji. “He said his team got a star player.”
I stared at the word star for a second.
Someone was using a positive word to describe me. Not Dummy. Not Slowpoke. Not Wallflower.
“Can’t do lunch. Dinner?”
“Done. I’ll book a place.”
Dinner went well.
Nathan mentioned he was pivoting into early-stage investing and scouting cross-border opportunities. “If your project delivers solid results, we could talk down the line if you guys raise funds.”
“You’d invest in me?”
“Invest in your company,” he smiled. “But if you ever start your own thing, I’d invest in that too.”
“Don’t joke.”
“I’m not.” He looked at me seriously. “Sarah, you’re a lot stronger than you think.”
That evening, when we left the restaurant, a light rain was falling. He gave me his umbrella. “My car’s in the garage, I don’t need it.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He walked a few steps, then turned back. “There’s an expo next week, industry-related. Want to go together?”
“Sure.”
May in London, the air after rain was crisp and clean. I walked toward my apartment, umbrella in hand, feeling light. The soles of my shoes were wet, but I didn’t care.
My phone rang. Luke. “Sarah, I looked into the client phone thing.”
“Mm.”
“She was wrong. But…”
I waited for his but. “…She told me she just wanted to fix things with you. She knew you weren’t reading her messages, so she tried to reach you from another angle.”
I stood in the rain, the umbrella tilting in the wind. “So calling my client’s office was her ‘angle’?”
“I know it sounds bad”
“Then you know.”
“Sarah, can you give her one more chance?”
“I gave her eight years.”
He went quiet. After a very long pause, he said: “I’m flying back next week.”
“Oh.”
“You won’t… see me before I go?”
Rain drummed against the umbrella. I thought about it.
“Luke, did you come to London for business, or for me?”
He didn’t answer. But this time, silence wasn’t a blurry signal, I understood it.
He came for me. But he’d never just say it. Because he was used to me guessing, reaching out, drawing closer.
“Then no,” I said.
“Sarah”
“Go back and be good to Sophie.”
I hung up. The rain was falling harder.
I didn’t run. I just walked slowly with the umbrella, pants soaked, shoes flooded.
But every step felt solid.