Chapter 5: A Job

Annie's POV

"The baby didn't make it."

Philip's words hung in the sterile hospital air. I kept my eyes fixed on the privacy curtain, refusing to acknowledge his carefully neutral expression or the way his CEO persona never wavered, even now.

"Annie?" His voice carried that familiar note of authority – the tone that expected immediate response. But I remained silent, letting the steady beep of the heart monitor fill the space between us.

The door burst open, and Brian rushed in, his face pale and drawn. "Mom!" His voice cracked. "Mom, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to – I wasn't trying to –"

I watched him struggle with his words, noted how his apparent distress never quite reached his eyes. The memory of the fall just hours ago flashed through my mind: the oily sheen on the stairs, his retreating back, the calculated nature of it all.

"I didn't know about the baby," he continued, voice rising hysterically. "I swear I didn't mean for you to –"

"Brian." Philip's sharp tone cut through our son's rambling. "Perhaps this isn't the best time."

But the memories were already flooding back – the cold tiles against my skin, the spreading warmth between my legs, the knowledge even then that I was losing something precious. Something that represented my last hope for this family.

I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted beyond words. When I opened them again, I found Brian staring at me with an expression that shifted between guilt and something else – something harder to define.

"It's okay," I said finally, my voice surprisingly steady. "You can stop pretending now."

Brian's facade cracked, guilt giving way to defiance. "I'm not pretending! I really am –"

"Sorry?" I finished for him. "No, you're not. And that's okay." The words felt strange on my tongue, but they carried a weight of truth I couldn't deny anymore. "You don't have to pretend to love me anymore, Brian."

His eyes widened, then narrowed. The transformation was remarkable – like watching a mask slip away to reveal the stranger beneath. "I don't," he said, his voice suddenly cold and clear. "I don't want you to be my mom anymore. I want Sarah."

Philip shifted uncomfortably beside me, but remained silent. Always calculating the most advantageous position.

"I know," I said quietly. "And from today, you don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm giving the position to Sarah."

The joy that lit up my son's face felt like a physical blow, but I forced myself to meet his eyes. To memorize this moment, this feeling. To let it burn away the last threads of hope I'd been clinging to.

"Really?" Brian's voice trembled with excitement now, not distress. "You mean it?"

"I do." I turned to Philip. "We should start discussing divorce arrangements soon."

Philip's mask slipped for just a moment, surprise flickering across his features before the composed CEO persona reasserted itself. "If you prefer that way, I can't see how I can change your mind."

And you made yourself sound like you have tried a great deal to change my mind, I said in my heart sarcastically.

Brian was practically bouncing now, all pretense of remorse forgotten. "Can I go call Sarah? Can I tell her?"

"Go ahead," Philip said softly, and our son – no, Sarah's son now – practically ran from the room.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before, weighted with the death of something that had been dying for longer than I'd wanted to admit.

---

The morning passed in a haze of medical checks and paperwork. Around eleven-thirty, a knock at my door pulled me from my daze. Instead of another nurse, I found myself looking up at a man I vaguely remembered from this morning's corridor.

The familiar scent hit me first - that pleasant blend of tobacco and cologne that somehow made the sterile hospital air breathable again. I could lose myself in that scent, let it carry away all my pain. Or maybe just die wrapped in its warmth. That thought scared me enough to look up.

"Mrs. Baker?, I'm Howard Thompson. We... sort of met yesterday, though you might not remember." His voice was composed and controlled, which took me by surprise.

He looked too sunny to carry a tone like that, too absorbing to sound so distant. Maybe life had fucked him as well. But I just got divorced. What did I know about life?

I nodded slowly. "Thank you."

I couldn't help but drink in the details of his face. His sharp jawline was softened by a precisely trimmed black beard that made my fingers itch to trace its line. High cheekbones that caught the fluorescent lights. Deep-set eyes that seemed to hold both warmth and steel. His broad shoulders practically begged to be leaned on, to the way his tailored shirt hinted at a well-maintained physique beneath.

The sudden urge to collapse against that strength, to let someone else carry my burdens for even a moment, was so overwhelming it frightened me. I had the grace to shut down that voice in my mind immediately. How foolish of me! He was way out of my league.

Behind him stood a small blonde girl, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"This is Lucy," he continued, gesturing to the silent child beside him. "My niece."

Lucy raised her eyes to meet mine, and I was struck by the depth of emotion in them – so much feeling, contained in such careful silence. She offered a small, tentative smile that seemed to carry equal parts warmth and caution.

"Lucy's parents – my brother and his wife – died in a yacht accident years ago," Howard explained, his hand resting protectively on Lucy's shoulder. "She has selective mutism, the doctors call it. But actually she hasn't talked until this morning."

I watched as Lucy's fingers twisted in her dress, recognizing something in her careful guardedness.

"I mean, she hasn't spoken until she saw you," Howard continued, his voice carrying a hint of warmth I thought I captured. "She asked me to help you when she saw you were out cold on the floor."

"Why me?"

"She wouldn't say." Howard said simply. "But I think you might find the answer yourself." He trailed off, looking down at his niece with a mixture of concern and hope.

"What do you mean?"

"A job," Howard said. "Working with Lucy. Helping her find her voice again – whatever that means for her."

I looked between them – the silent child and the man who carried distance despite his sunny and manly face. I thought about the wreckage of my own family, the sudden emptiness of my future. The strange symmetry of a child who couldn't speak and a mother whose child no longer wanted to hear her voice.

"I'll need time to think about it," I said finally.

"Of course. Take all the time you need. And this is my business card." Howard nodded, still in that distant tone which didn't match his face.