My own name.
My own life.
My own future.
I walked out of the conference room without looking back.
My phone vibrated before I reached the elevator.
A message from Emily.
Are you done?
I smiled.
Yes.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Does that mean we can finally go?
I typed one word.
Yes.
The elevator doors opened.
For the first time in years, I stepped inside without feeling like I was carrying someone else’s expectations on my shoulders.
What Daniel didn’t know was that our daughters’ suitcases were already packed.
Mine too.
Three weeks earlier, a London-based architectural design firm had offered me the position I had once dreamed about before marriage and motherhood rearranged my priorities.
Creative director.
A salary almost twice what I had earned before leaving full-time work after Grace was born.
Relocation expenses covered.
Temporary housing provided.
School placement assistance for both girls.
I had almost turned it down.
