The following evening, Isabelle sat on her sofa, laptop perched on her knees, the kids playing quietly in the living room. Robert's words echoed in her mind - We could build it together. She couldn't stop picturing a small office buzzing with energy, clients who actually cared about doing the right thing, and the two of them leading it.
She allowed herself to imagine a future where work was passion, life was shared, and the person she loved was right there beside her - partner, confidant, and more.
But reality pressed in. Rent. Salaries. Legalities. Pitching clients. How on earth could they manage it? She bit her lip, scrolling through potential office spaces online, imagining a corner office for Robert and a desk by the window for herself.
Her phone buzzed - a message from him:
Still thinking about our hypothetical business venture?
She smiled and typed back quickly:
Yes. I can't help it. It's... exciting. Terrifying. Thrilling.
Good, he replied almost immediately. Exactly how it should feel.
She laughed quietly to herself. The way he made everything feel possible - she hadn't realised how much she'd needed that kind of belief from someone.
Robert leaned against the railing of his balcony, phone in hand, London lights stretching below. She'd agreed. That simple fact made his chest tighten with something that wasn't quite nerves and wasn't quite excitement. It was anticipation - the kind you couldn't manufacture.
He imagined her managing high-profile clients with her characteristic calm, her laugh echoing in the office when a project finally clicked.
The next day, Isabelle arrived early at their favourite café, nerves prickling under her professional exterior. Robert was already there, laptop open, a coffee steaming beside him. He stood as she approached, greeting her with a brief kiss and that warm, familiar smile.
"Hey," he said. "Glad you could make it."
"Wouldn't miss it," she replied, sliding into the seat beside him.
She ordered a coffee, then pulled a notebook from her bag.
"So... let's pretend this is real. What do you see? Where do we even start?"
Robert leaned back, eyes gleaming with that mix of strategy and excitement she'd come to recognise.
"First - clients. We know people. You know their expectations, their quirks. I can handle management. You handle organisation, relationships, details."
Her fingers tapped the table as she thought. "We'd need capital. A team. Software, legal, accounting - everything."
"I've done the number-crunching," he said, flipping his laptop around to show her. "A modest start-up. Two or three key hires. We can all work remotely. We don't need fancy - we need capable. Flexible. Ethical."
She studied him carefully. "And this... isn't just a pipe dream for you? You're serious?"
"Every bit," he said softly. "I want to do this with you. Build something meaningful. But we'll take it one step at a time."
Her pulse quickened. She swallowed hard, steadying herself. "One step at a time," she repeated, nodding.
He watched her - the spark that lit her eyes when an idea struck, the way she tilted her head when she thought, how she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear without noticing. He wanted to reach for her hand, but didn't. Not while they were working.
Instead, he listened, letting her voice carry the room - that quiet, sure tone that always steadied him. Every question she asked, every solution she offered, gave shape to the vision they were building. He'd imagined something like this long before he met her - a consultancy with purpose, with heart - but it had always felt hollow. Now, with her at the centre, it felt alive.
When they finally stepped out of the café, the sun had set, the city humming softly around them. Isabelle was flushed with ideas - exhilarated, but tired. They'd built the beginnings of a plan: roles, clients, projects, possibilities - a fragile outline of a future she could almost see.
"I need to think about all of this," she said, a hint of caution in her voice. "It's... a lot."
"I know," Robert said, calm and reassuring. "Take your time."
"It's not just that," she admitted. "I have the kids, my mother, rent, bills... I can't just-"
He cut in lightly. "You worry too much. We'll figure it out."
Something in his ease - that quiet certainty - hit a nerve. "That's easy for you to say," she said, sharper than she meant. "You've never had to plan your life around other people."
He blinked, taken aback. "That's not fair, Isabelle."
"Maybe not," she said, crossing her arms, "but it's true. I can't risk everything on a dream just because it feels right."
He sighed, his jaw tightening. "I'm not asking you to risk everything. I'm saying we'll manage it - together."
"Together?" Her laugh was quiet but brittle. "Robert, I've heard that before. People promise they'll be there - and then they aren't. You don't know what it's like to hold everything together when the world gives up on you."
The words hung between them, heavier than either expected.
For a long moment, he said nothing. The crowd moved around them - commuters, traffic, life - but he just looked at her, the realisation sinking in.
"You're right," he said finally, his voice low. "I don't know what that's like. I've never had to build a life for anyone but myself. But I want to understand. I want to be the man who stands next to you - not above you. Not behind you."
Her anger ebbed as quickly as it had risen. She exhaled, eyes glinting with regret and relief. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
He shook his head. "No. You were right to say it. I need to know what you're afraid of."
Something in his tone - quiet, unguarded - undid her. She reached for his hand, tentative but sure. "We'll figure it out," she murmured.
He smiled then, that small, knowing smile that always made her chest ache. "We will. But only if we do it your way. Smartly. Properly. No rushing in."
Her expression softened. "You'd agree to that?"
He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "I'd agree to anything that keeps you by my side."
Her heart lifted - fragile, but warm.
Later that week, he showed her the draft business plan - precise, detailed, the work of a man who already believed. She read it through, touched, until she saw the projected startup costs.
"Robert," she said quietly, "you're not seriously thinking of using your savings for this?"
He tried for a casual shrug, but she caught the flicker of tension in his eyes. "Just a bit. Enough to get us started."
"No," she said firmly. "That's your future."
He met her gaze, steady but certain. "Our future."
Her pulse stuttered at the word. She wanted to believe him - she did - but the fear lingered.
So she said it softly, but sure. "Then promise me we'll protect it. A contract. Equal partners. No confusion if anything ever changes."
He paused, studying her. For a second, she thought he might refuse - that he'd see it as a lack of trust. But then his shoulders eased and he smiled. "Of course. You're right. If we're going to build this properly, we do it the right way. Together."
Her breath caught. "You really mean that?"
"Completely."
She laughed then, light and nervous, relief flooding through her.
And as they sat there - ideas, fears, and hopes tangled together in the low hum of night - he realised just how much she'd already changed him.
Robert reached across the table, brushing his fingers lightly over hers. "Isabelle... I hope I never let you down. You're it for me. I shut myself off for years - from people, from love, from life. And then you walked in, and everything changed."
She smiled at him and he felt the warmth of it long after he'd dropped her off at home.
Later that night, his phone buzzed. A message from her.
Still working?
He smiled faintly.
Always. You?
Just finished the kids' homework. Luke's obsessed with spaceships. Becca wants to build a house out of cereal boxes.
He chuckled softly, picturing her surrounded by cardboard and crayons, her hair falling loose from the day.
Sounds like you've got your own creative team already.
Something like that, she replied. Don't stay up too late. Love you xx
He stared at her last message for a long time, the glow of the screen soft against the dark. Papers covered the counter, the business plan open, her name scrawled at the top of a page he hadn't meant to personalise.
He typed: Sleep well, Isabelle.
Then deleted it, typing: Goodnight, my love instead.
The words felt smaller than what he wanted to say; he just stared at them until the screen dimmed after sending.
He knew Isabelle didn't need him to rescue her - only to stand beside her.
That was why he'd meant every word:
He would never try to replace her.
He would never let her down.
He would do anything for her.
Because she - his Isabelle - was everything.