Chapter 11
Nathan looked down.
“You know what I hated most?” he asked.
“What?”
“You never seemed afraid of losing me.”
That broke something open inside me.
Not love.
Understanding.
I had loved Nathan.
But I had also assumed permanence.
Nine years became evidence.
Shared property became evidence.
Frozen embryos became evidence.
His family calling me one of them became evidence.
I had believed history could substitute for attention.
“I was afraid,” I said.
“You never showed it.”
“That was my mistake.”
He looked at me hopefully.
I continued.
“Your mistake was deciding fear would have made me easier to control.”
The hope disappeared.
I stepped toward the elevator.
“Nine years mattered, Nathan. They just don’t belong to our future.”
The doors opened.
He did not follow me.
Six months later, Vale Biomedical still existed.
That achievement required more work than destroying Nathan had.
We rejected the highest acquisition offer because it would close our Cambridge laboratory and eliminate nearly half the research team.
Instead, we negotiated a partnership with a network of cancer centers that offered less money upfront but preserved the program.
Marcus found a federal loan guarantee.
I secured hospital funding.
The board approved the deal by one vote.
Employees applauded when the announcement came.
I found Marcus afterward in the parking garage.
“Thank you.”
He looked suspicious.
“For?”
“The financing structure.”
“You argued against it for three weeks.”
“I said thank you, not that I enjoyed the process.”
“That sounds more like you.”
I almost walked away.
Instead, I stopped.
“I was angry with you.”
“I noticed.”
“At the committee meeting.”
“I noticed that too.”
“You questioned me publicly when I already felt everyone was waiting for me to fail.”
Marcus nodded.
“I was harder on you than necessary.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
He looked at his car keys.
“Because I was attracted to you.”
I stared.
“And you thought publicly dismantling my projections would help?”
“No. I thought being visibly skeptical would prove my judgment wasn’t affected.”
“That may be the least romantic confession I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m a restructuring adviser. Our industry is not known for poetry.”
I laughed.
Really laughed.
For the first time in months.
Marcus looked at me.
“My board engagement ends Friday.”
“So?”
“So after Friday, I would like to take you to dinner.”
I hesitated.
He didn’t fill the silence.
Didn’t persuade.
Didn’t tell me I was afraid.
Didn’t tell me what my hesitation meant.