The morning light seeped reluctantly through the tall windows of Kendrick's office, turning the glass walls a muted shade of gold. The city was alive outside — horns, heels, chatter — yet inside, the air felt heavier, as though even the hum of the air conditioner was cautious not to break the silence.
Kendrick sat behind his desk, his elbows resting on a stack of untouched documents. He'd read the same email three times without absorbing a word. A single thought — her face when she left — had hijacked his mind and refused to let go.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly, trying to shake the image. The argument replayed in fragments — his mother's cold tone, Elsie's quiet dignity, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall. It gnawed at him. He'd seen her hurt before, but never like that. Never because of him.
There was a knock on the glass.
"Come in," he said, his voice low.
Damien entered first, his usual swagger dampened by concern. Astrid followed, her coffee cup raised like a peace offering, and Jeff trailed behind, tablet in hand.
"Well," Damien began carefully, "you look like hell, man."
Kendrick didn't respond.
Astrid slid the cup onto his desk. "Black, no sugar. Maybe it'll stop you from staring holes into the wall."
Jeff tried a smile. "You're scaring the interns. They think you're plotting a hostile takeover."
Kendrick let out a short breath — almost a laugh, almost not. "Maybe I am."
"Of what?" Damien asked, taking a seat across from him. "The world or your mother's patience?"
Kendrick's jaw tightened. "Neither's going too well."
Astrid perched on the edge of the conference table. "We heard about last night. Alicia called."
He looked up, sharp. "She shouldn't have."
"She was worried," Astrid replied softly. "Said your mom went off on Elsie."
Jeff exchanged a look with Damien. "She did, huh?"
Kendrick rubbed his temples. "It was bad. I should've stopped it sooner."
"You did what you could," Damien said. "Your mom's… a force."
"Elsie didn't deserve that," Kendrick murmured.
Astrid studied him for a moment. "Do you want to talk to her?"
He didn't answer right away. His hand brushed over his phone, screen dark. He hadn't called, hadn't texted — because what could he possibly say? Sorry, my mother called you thick-faced. Sorry, I didn't protect you fast enough. Sorry for being born into the reason you'll never be accepted.
Instead, he stood. "I have a meeting in ten."
"No, you don't," Damien said flatly. "I moved it."
Kendrick blinked. "You what?"
"You've been sitting there for an hour, man," Damien said. "You're not fooling anyone. You need air, food, something. Hell, take the day off."
Astrid added gently, "Sometimes distance gives clarity."
Kendrick's eyes drifted to the skyline beyond the window — the endless sprawl of towers and traffic, everything he'd built, everything that somehow still felt smaller than one woman's disappointment. He pressed his palms to the desk and exhaled.
"Maybe you're right," he said.
"You know we are," Jeff muttered, smiling faintly. "Now go. Before Damien starts a motivational speech."
Damien threw a pen at him. "Don't tempt me."
As Kendrick gathered his jacket, Astrid spoke again — softer this time.
"She loves you, Kendrick. That's why it hurt."
He paused at the door. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's exactly why it hurt."
---
✧
The same sun that washed over the city spilled gently into Elsie's apartment, illuminating the soft edges of disarray — a sweater draped over the chair, a wine glass on the counter, her phone blinking with unread messages she didn't want to open.
Joan stood by the kitchen window, spooning sugar into her coffee like she was stirring judgment into it.
"So," she said finally, "you planning to sit here and brood till the weekend?"
Elsie shot her a tired look from the couch. "I'm not brooding."
"You're absolutely brooding," Joan countered. "You've got the face of a woman who watched her favorite drama end badly."
"It did end badly," Elsie muttered.
Joan walked over, placing the mug in her hand. "Here. Caffeine. Doctor's orders. Also, if I see you staring into space one more time, I'm staging an intervention."
Elsie managed a small smile. "You already are."
Joan flopped onto the couch beside her. "Good. Then let's get to the part where I talk sense into you."
Elsie sighed. "You don't have to."
"I kind of do." Joan turned, facing her squarely. "Look, his mom's a piece of work. Always has been. But Kendrick—he's not her. He's the guy who made you laugh when you were supposed to be networking. Who drives across the city just to drop you off like it's the 1950s? Don't throw that away because his mother forgot her manners."
Elsie stared into her coffee, silent for a long moment. "It's not just that," she said finally. "It's everything. The looks. The whispers. The way they remind me — every time — that I don't belong there."
Joan softened. "Then maybe you need to be somewhere that reminds you who you do belong to."
Elsie looked up.
Joan smiled. "Your grandparents. You said they've been calling you to visit. The countryside. Fresh air, zero Langstons."
"I can't just run away."
"It's not running away," Joan said. "It's breathing."
Elsie hesitated — then exhaled slowly, the weight in her chest easing just enough to nod. "Okay. Maybe a few days."
Joan grinned. "That's my girl. I'll pack the snacks."
✧
By afternoon, the car hummed along a ribbon of country road, city skyline fading into soft hills and golden fields. The sky stretched wide and blue, scattered with drifting clouds that looked like unspoken thoughts.
Elsie rested her head against the window, watching the world turn greener with every mile. The air felt lighter out here, freer — like the world itself was reminding her that life existed beyond the Langstons' polished walls.
"You always look calmer out here," Joan said, her hands steady on the wheel.
"It's home," Elsie murmured. "In a way the city never was."
When they finally turned down the narrow gravel path that led to her grandparents' cottage, Elsie felt her heart swell. The small stone house sat tucked beneath a willow tree, flowers blooming wildly along the fence. Her grandmother, silver-haired and radiant even in her apron, was already waving from the porch.
"Elsie!" she called, her voice carrying that familiar warmth. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten the way home."
"I could never," Elsie said, smiling as she stepped out of the car.
Her grandfather appeared from the garden, wiping his hands on a towel. "City life hasn't swallowed you yet, eh?"
"Not yet," Elsie replied, hugging him tightly.
They led her inside, the scent of baked bread and lavender filling the air. Joan hung back politely, but Grandma insisted she sit, eat, and "add some color to those city bones."
For the first time in days, Elsie laughed — a real, unguarded laugh. The kind that reached her eyes.
Later, as evening fell and fireflies began to flicker beyond the windows, Elsie stood outside under the willow tree. The wind brushed her hair, and the stars blinked faintly through the branches. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — Kendrick's name on the screen.
She stared at it, thumb hovering.
Then, slowly, she turned it face down on the porch railing.
"Not tonight," she whispered to the quiet air. "Not yet."
Joan's voice called from the kitchen window, teasing: "You ignoring the rich man again?"
Elsie smiled faintly. "Just… giving him time to remember what he's missing."
The countryside held her in its calm, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to breathe — deeply, freely, completely.