The moment the projector flickered on, the conference room in downtown Seattle looked like a crime scene—only the victim was a PowerPoint slide.
“Tom,” Miranda said slowly, like she was tasting something bitter, “these slides are terrible.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
Around the oval table, a handful of coworkers pretended to check emails, sip coffee, or straighten pens that didn’t need straightening. Nobody looked up. Nobody ever did when Miranda started in on someone. It was safer that way.
Tom Miller swallowed and tried to keep his voice even.
“I’m sorry, Miranda. What… what don’t you like about them?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she clicked through the deck with sharp, impatient taps, each slide flashing on the wall—clean layouts, muted colors, a logo left-aligned like the brand guidelines said.
“Because they look like this,” she said finally, gesturing to the screen with disgust. “The font is completely wrong for the client’s aesthetic. The spacing is off. The whole vibe is just… amateur.”
From her leather folder, she pulled out a stack of papers covered in red ink.
“Here,” she said, dropping them in front of him. “These are my notes. You’ll fix every single one of them before I present. And you will fact-check everything. Twice. I’m not going into a meeting with this.”
Tom’s face grew hot. He’d stayed up past midnight the night before, working at the little kitchen table in their rented duplex, trying not to wake his wife, who was nine months pregnant and exhausted. He’d checked the brand book three times. He’d matched every color code.
“I thought—” he started.
“That was your first mistake,” Miranda cut in, then turned to the rest of the room. Her expression hardened into something performative, her voice suddenly louder.
“Listen up, everybody,” she announced. “Since I’m your coordinator and I’m now fixing Tom’s mess, I need all of you to step it up and raise your standards. If you can’t keep up, maybe you shouldn’t be working here.”
The only sound was the low hum of the air conditioner.
Tom stared at the table, wishing the wood grain would open and swallow him whole.
Later, when the meeting broke, he walked back to his cubicle with the red-marked printouts in hand. Seattle traffic crawled outside the windows, brake lights glowing red in the drizzle. In a city full of expensive coffee and tech startups, he was just one more mid-level corporate worker trying very hard not to drown.
He sat down, opened his email, and tried to lose himself in routine.
Reply to that vendor. Confirm tomorrow’s call. Forward the agenda. Clear the inbox, clear the mind.
By 11:57 a.m., he had one unread message left. A job posting from HR.
Internal Posting: New Manager Position – Client Operations
He clicked it without meaning to. The words on the screen seemed to glow.
Higher salary. Benefits. Leadership responsibilities. Chance to shape department strategy. Must demonstrate excellent communication, empathy, and team support.
His heart gave a little hopeful kick.
It wasn’t just the money, though that mattered more than ever. Rent in the Seattle suburbs was climbing again. Their used Honda had been sitting in the driveway for months with a broken transmission they couldn’t afford to fix. The hospital bills for the baby would start arriving any day.
But there was something else. A small, quiet part of him that had always wanted to be the person who made things better for others. The kind of manager who knew people’s kids’ names, who listened, who didn’t humiliate people in front of their peers.
“Someday,” he’d told Delilah when they were eating leftovers at their thrift-store table, “I want to be the kind of boss I wish I had.”
He stared at the posting.
I should apply, he thought. I have to try.
“What are you looking at?” a voice snapped from behind him.
Tom flinched and minimized the window. Miranda stood at the edge of his cubicle, arms crossed, her ID badge swinging against her blazer.
“N-nothing,” he said.
She leaned over his shoulder anyway. The minimized window popped back open, betraying him.
“Manager job description,” she read aloud. “Oh, thank you for printing this out for me.”
He blinked. “I… actually, I was going to apply.”
Miranda stared at him for a heartbeat. Then she laughed—a short, sharp sound.
“You’re serious,” she said. “There is no way they’ll ever hire you as manager over me.”
Before he could answer, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes.
“I have to go,” she said. “Somebody has to close deals around here.”
She walked off in heels that clicked like punctuation marks on linoleum.
Tom watched the empty space she left behind and wondered if he was being ridiculous. Still, his fingers hovered over the mouse. He didn’t close the job posting.
He just minimized it again and promised himself he’d revisit it later.
He didn’t know that before the sun set, his entire life would tilt.
The first sign was the elevator ding at 1:32 p.m.
The doors slid open, and a young man stepped out in a plaid shirt, worn jeans, and a cowboy hat that looked like it had actually seen a ranch, not a fashion shoot. He carried a laptop bag and walked with the unsure confidence of someone trying not to look lost.
Tom met him halfway.
“Hey there,” Tom said. “Conference rooms are that way, break room’s to the left, and the ranch is ten more minutes that way.”
The guy laughed. “Oh, uh, no. I’m not lost. I’m the new intern. Felix.”
He stuck out his hand.
Tom shook it. “Tom Miller. Client coordinator… assistant. I guess. Nice to meet you.”
Miranda chose that moment to appear, all crisp blouse and practiced smile.
“Felix,” she said, extending a hand. “Welcome. I’m Miranda, the coordinator here.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Felix said politely. His eyes flicked between them, taking in their dynamic in one glance.
Before the conversation could stretch, Tom’s phone buzzed. Hospital. Unknown number. His heart stopped.
“Hello?” he said.
“Tom Miller?” a nurse’s voice asked. “Your wife is in labor. She’s at Swedish Medical Center. You might want to come now.”
“I’ll be right there,” Tom said, already grabbing his jacket. He glanced at Felix. “Sorry. I have to go. My wife—she’s having our baby.”
“Hey, congratulations,” Felix said, genuine warmth in his tone. “Go. We’ll see you when you’re back.”
Tom shoved his phone in his pocket and headed for the elevator. Outside, rain had turned to a cold mist. The Honda sat stubbornly in the driveway at home, broken and useless. They’d talked about calling a rideshare for the hospital, but when the contractions started earlier than expected, Delilah had insisted on taking the bus.
“We’ll save every dollar we can,” she’d said. “You run when they call you.”
So he did.
He ran.
Down Pike Street, past coffee shops and food trucks and people in fleece jackets scrolling through their phones. Past the bus stop where he and Delilah used to wait together on dates, sharing earbuds and cheap coffee.
His lungs burned. His legs ached. But as he pushed through the hospital doors, chest heaving, a nurse looked up and smiled like she’d been expecting him.
“You made it,” she said. “Room 403.”
Delilah lay in the hospital bed, hair plastered to her forehead, eyes tired but bright. When she saw him, relief washed over her face.
“You’re here,” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” he said, taking her hand.
An hour later, he was holding their daughter.
“Hey, Betty,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I’ve got you.”
Her real name was Elizabeth, but Betty fit her tiny wrinkled face like she’d been born to grow into it.
Delilah watched him with a soft smile. “Do you think we’re ready for this?” she asked.
He laughed through the tears. “I think it’s a little late to ask that now.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “It’s a huge responsibility.”
“You and me are more than ready,” he said. “We got this. Together.”
For a while, the world shrank to hospital sheets, soft baby breaths, and the distant beep of machines. He forgot about slides and managers and corporate politics.
But life, especially American life with its bills and insurance and invisible interest rates, doesn’t let you forget for long.
They brought Betty home to their small two-bedroom rental tucked into a quiet Washington suburb. The neighbors across the hall had kindly collected their mail while they were gone. Tom grabbed the stack from the shoebox outside their door as Delilah cradled the baby.
“Home sweet home,” he said softly. “Welcome to the house, little Betty.”
Inside, it smelled like laundry detergent and the faint coffee he’d forgotten to rinse out of the machine before they left.
He shuffled through the mail. Electric bill. Water. Hospital envelope. A letter from the landlord.
His fingers paused on the last one.
He opened it.
The words PAST DUE glared up at him in red.
“Is something wrong?” Delilah asked from the couch, shifting Betty against her shoulder.
“No,” he lied automatically. “Just… bills. Nothing we can’t handle.”
She exhaled slowly. “I promise I’ll go back to work as soon as I can,” she said. “Once I’m cleared. I’ll pick up shifts, we’ll catch up.”
“No,” he said quickly. “You take care of Betty. I’ll take care of you. That’s how this works.”
She gave him a tired smile. “Thank you, Tommy.”
She hesitated.
“My mom’s coming later this week,” she added. “To stay for a while. Is that okay?”
“That’s great,” he said. “An extra pair of hands will help.”
He kissed her forehead, then the baby’s, and grabbed his work bag.
“I better head in,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said.
Back at the office the next morning, he walked in with the dazed look of a man who had spent the night bouncing a baby at 3 a.m. and doing math with hospital bills at 4.
“Morning, man,” called Andy from analytics.
“Morning,” Tom said, forcing a smile.
Miranda appeared beside the coffee machine, perfectly put-together as always.
“Good morning, Tom,” she said sweetly. “Guess what?”
“What?” he asked cautiously.
“Kidding, don’t guess,” she said. “I presented our campaign to the clients. They loved it. We closed the deal.”
He blinked. “That’s great. They liked the slides?”
She smiled. “They complimented them.”
“You mean… my slides,” he said carefully.
She tilted her head. “No. If you wanted the credit, maybe you should have made the presentation. You chose to stay home. I showed up.”
“I was taking care of my wife and my newborn daughter,” he said, trying hard not to let anger color his voice.
“Anyway,” she said, brushing it aside, “when the board hears how amazing I did, they’ll have no choice but to hire me as the new manager.”
She walked away, leaving the smell of expensive perfume and frustration in her wake.
Tom exhaled.
He had work to do.
Later that morning, he found Felix in front of a computer, squinting at the management system interface.
“So this,” Tom said, pointing at the screen, “is where we track client interactions. Every call, every email, every meeting. And this tab here is your daily task assignment section. You check that every morning. It tells you what you’re responsible for. As you finish each item, you mark it complete.”
Felix nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “So this is the task assignment section… and here’s where I log calls and team communication. Got it.”
“You’re a quick study,” Tom said. “You want to try?”
“I guess I’ll give it a shot,” Felix replied. “I’m more used to… different systems.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” Tom said. “You’re a great listener.”
Felix hesitated. “Would you want to get a meal later?” he asked. “When I started out in my first office job, my coordinator took me out to dinner. Helped me understand people, not just spreadsheets.”
Tom smiled. “Your coordinator sounds like a great person. Sure. There’s a place nearby, Iron Steakhouse. We can meet there tonight.”
“Perfect,” Felix said. “I’ll see you there.”
At home that afternoon, Delilah checked the mailbox again. Another letter from the landlord. Another notice.
Past due.
Her heart pounded.
Tom had said he’d handle it. He’d said the bills were “nothing to worry about.”
She knew better.
She slipped the envelopes back into the drawer and pressed her lips together.
Mom will be here soon, she thought. Maybe she can help us figure this out. But I can’t just sit here and pretend nothing’s wrong.
At the Iron Steakhouse, Felix sat in a booth near the window, looking oddly at home in his plaid shirt among the polished tables and dim lighting. The neon glow of a Seattle sports bar television flickered in the background. A server approached with menus.
“I know you’ve seen me around here before in a suit,” Felix said once Tom arrived, laughing awkwardly. “But this week I’m… trying something different. Getting to know one of our employees better. So, for tonight, you don’t know me.”
Tom blinked. “Okay,” he said, amused. “I was going to say, you do look a little different. I think it’s the mustache.”
Felix grinned. “I’ll make sure not to blow my own cover. Two menus, please,” he told the server.
They ordered drinks.
“How’s the baby?” Felix asked. “And your wife?”
“They’re good,” Tom said, and the tension dropped from his shoulders for a moment. “Doctor says Betty’s doing okay. We just got home from the hospital this morning.”
“Congratulations on becoming a father,” Felix said.
“Thank you,” Tom replied. “I went back to work right away. I thought about taking leave, but… I can’t afford any unpaid time. We’re behind on bills as it is. And we still can’t afford to get the car fixed. I ran to the hospital.”
Felix’s brows drew together. “That must be hard.”
“It is,” Tom said, but then he smiled. “But when I hold her, it’s worth it.”
“And you?” Tom asked. “You got any family?”
Felix looked down at his water glass.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I had a family. I still do. But my wife is leaving. Divorce papers. Lawyers. It’s… a lot.”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said. “That must be tough.”
“It makes you rethink what you want from life,” Felix said. “I’m trying to connect more with people. See what makes them happy. Figure out who I want to be when the dust settles.”
The server arrived with two plates of prime rib, juices sizzling.
“This is on me, by the way,” Tom said quickly.
“No,” Felix said. “You’ve got a newborn. I insist.”
“Okay,” Tom said. “To new beginnings?”
“To new beginnings,” Felix agreed, raising his glass.
Back at home that night, Delilah was in the nursery when Tom walked in.
“Hey, babe,” he said softly. “How was the first full day home with Betty?”
“She slept a lot,” Delilah said. “Which was a blessing. How was your day?”
“You won’t believe what happened,” he said, dropping heavily onto the couch. “Miranda took credit for all the presentations I made. Again.”
“Tom,” Delilah said carefully. “We need to talk.”
He looked up. She was holding the landlord’s letters.
“I found these bills,” she said. “The ones you said were ‘nothing we can’t handle.’”
He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could handle them on my own.”
“Keeping things from me only makes me worry more,” she said. “We’re a team. You can’t carry this alone.”
He swallowed. “You’re right. I should have been more open from the start.”
“So what are we going to do?” she asked.
He hesitated. “There’s a new management role that just opened up,” he said. “If I get it, I could make double what I make now. It would change everything. I’m going to apply.”
She studied him. “Okay,” she said. “Then we go all in on that. And in the meantime…”
She glanced at the plain gold band on her finger, then looked away.
“Can you put the baby to sleep?” she asked instead. “I need to think.”
“Of course,” he said.
The next morning, Felix met him by the coffee machine, eyes sharp even behind the mild internship act.
“You look tired,” Felix said. “Rough night?”
“Betty barely slept,” Tom said. “And I’ve been thinking about this manager interview. I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You can,” Felix said. “Tell you what—tonight after work, I’ll come by. We’ll do a mock interview. You can practice your answers on me. No pressure.”
Tom hesitated, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “Yeah. That might help.”
At home, things were getting tighter. Another notice. Another reminder.
Delilah stood at the window holding Betty, watching the clouds roll over the neighborhood. Her mother would arrive soon. Rent would be due even sooner.
“Mommy has a plan,” she whispered into the baby’s soft hair. “I promise.”
At work, Miranda dropped a stack of reports on Tom’s desk.
“These are full of errors,” she said. “Fix them.”
“I double-checked those,” he said. “Can you tell me what I missed?”
“Figure it out yourself,” she said. “You’re not paid to ask me questions.”
He stared at her. “Why do you… treat me like this?” he asked quietly. “What did I ever do to you?”
She smirked. “You try too hard,” she said. “You act all nice because you want something in return. It’s fake. And it doesn’t change the fact you’re never going to be manager. You’re not strong enough. And honestly, I don’t think you’ll ever be a good father either.”
The words landed like a blow.
He felt his throat tighten.
“Now fix them,” she said, and walked away.
Felix found him in the break room ten minutes later, hands braced on the counter.
“Hey,” Felix said. “Are you okay? What she said just now wasn’t right. At all.”
Tom swallowed and forced a breath. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be,” Felix said. “Come over for dinner. Let me meet your family. It’ll get your mind off this. And tonight, we do that mock interview. Deal?”
Tom managed a small nod. “Deal.”
That evening, he opened the door to find Felix standing on the porch with a store-bought pie in one hand.
“Come on in,” Tom said. “Delilah, this is Felix—the intern I’m training.”
“Hi,” Delilah said, smiling warmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to our home.”
“You have a lovely place,” Felix said, taking in the worn but clean furniture, the baby swing in the corner, the photos on the wall—Tom in a college hoodie, Delilah in scrubs from when she’d worked double shifts before the pregnancy.
“I’ll go feed Betty,” Delilah said. “Dinner’s on the stove. Help yourselves.”
They filled plates in the small kitchen and sat at the table.
“What’s on your mind?” Felix asked after a while.
Tom stared at his fork.
“I don’t think I should apply for the manager position anymore,” he said. “Miranda said I’m never going to be a manager. And the interview… I’m nervous. What if I fail?”
“Come on,” Felix said. “You’ll be great. You just have to be yourself. Let’s practice.”
He pulled out his phone.
“All right,” he said. “Classic interview question: How would you describe your management style?”
Tom thought for a moment.
“I’d say I believe in a collaborative management style,” he said slowly. “With open communication and real support. I want to empower people, not scare them. I want their ideas to succeed. I want them to feel safe telling me when something’s wrong.”
Felix smiled. “That’s a good answer,” he said. “Okay, next question. How do you handle failure?”
“I see failure as a learning opportunity,” Tom said. “I’d want to analyze what went wrong, figure out how to do better next time, and stay positive. I’d also own my part. Not blame others.”
“Excellent,” Felix said. “Here’s another. How do you handle difficult colleagues?”
Tom’s mind flashed instantly to Miranda’s face, her eyes cold across the conference room, her words like needles.
He opened his mouth to answer—but his phone buzzed.
Miranda’s name glared on the screen.
He answered.
“Hi, Miranda.”
“We have a new potential client,” she said briskly. “Big one. I need you to start researching and building slides. Now.”
“It’s late,” he said. “I’m at home. I was going to put my daughter—”
“Tom,” she cut in. “This is important. You want to be taken seriously? Then act like it.”
The line went dead.
Tom stared at the phone.
“What does she want?” Delilah asked from the doorway, bouncing Betty on her hip.
“She wants me to do more work,” he said quietly. “Off the clock.”
“That doesn’t sound fair,” Felix said. “Not even close.”
“No,” Tom said. “But… duty calls.”
He forced a smile at Felix. “Thank you for the mock interview.”
“Anytime,” Felix said. “For what it’s worth, you already sound more like a manager than most people I know who have the title.”
The next day, Tom came home to find Delilah waiting at the kitchen table, a letter in one hand and her ring finger bare.
“Hey,” Tom said, hanging up his jacket. “I have news. They’re—”
“I paid this month’s rent,” she said.
He blinked. “What? I told you I’d take care of that. How… how did you do it?”
She held up her empty hand.
“I sold my wedding ring online,” she said.
The room seemed to tilt.
“Why would you do that?” he asked. “That ring is a symbol of our promise. You just… sold it?”
“Because it’s the most expensive thing I own,” she said, voice trembling. “And we were about to lose our home. I thought you’d be happy that we’re safe for another month.”
“I’m grateful,” he said, struggling to find words. “But that ring… it meant something. Didn’t it mean something to you?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Of course it did,” she said. “But it’s not just you and me anymore. Ever since Betty was born, she has become our most important responsibility. I’m going to make sure this family survives. Even if it hurts.”
The anger drained out of him, leaving guilt and love and fear all tangled together.
“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I kept so much from you. I just… feel useless. Like I can’t provide. Like I’m failing both of you.”
“You’re not failing,” she said. “You’re tired. You’re stretched too thin. But you can’t carry the weight of the world alone. Like you said—we’re in this together.”
He took her hand.
“Together,” he repeated.
That night, after Delilah and Betty were asleep, Tom sat at the kitchen table with his laptop. The glow from the screen lit his tired face.
He opened a blank document.
Resignation Letter – Effective Immediately
His fingers hovered for a long time, then he started to type.
By morning, his minds was made up.
He walked into the office, printed out the letter, and placed it carefully on Miranda’s desk.
She picked it up, eyes widening.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I quit,” he said simply.
For a second, she stared. Then her lips curled into a pleased smile.
“I thought this day would never come,” she said. “Thank you. You just made my morning. Now I’ll get the manager position by default.”
“Not so fast,” came a voice from behind her.
Miranda turned. “Don’t interrupt,” she snapped. “Get back to work, intern. Chop chop.”
Felix stepped into the doorway. But he didn’t look like just an intern today. His shoulders were squared, his expression steely.
“Miranda,” he said calmly. “I’ve watched the way you treat Tom and the rest of this team for far too long. It ends today.”
“Be quiet, intern,” she said. “You don’t know anything.”
“Actually,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “I’m the CEO.”
The break room fell silent.
“That’s not possible,” Miranda scoffed. “Our CEO is Tristan Pierce. We’ve all seen his portrait in the lobby.”
Felix smiled.
“That’s my name,” he said. “Tristan Felix Pierce. I dropped the last name while I was undercover.”
Tom’s mind clicked back to their dinner. The vague talk about divorce. The strange joke about “you don’t know me.” The sense he’d seen him somewhere before.
“I knew I recognized you,” Tom said softly. “I’ve seen your portrait.”
“Then you know why I’m here,” Tristan said. “I wanted to see how things actually operate around here. Unfiltered.”
He turned back to Miranda.
“The way you speak to Tom and everyone else is completely unacceptable,” he said. “You take credit for work that isn’t yours, you insult your own team, and you expect people to work unpaid time while you go out and impress clients with slides you didn’t build.”
Miranda’s face went pale.
“Miranda,” he said, “you’re fired.”
Her mouth fell open. “No,” she said. “No, you can’t. Please. Give me another chance. I was just… under pressure. The numbers—”
“Pack up your things and leave the premises,” Tristan said calmly. “HR will follow up.”
She looked from him to Tom and back again, eyes wide with disbelief. Then, without another word, she grabbed her purse, shoved random items into a cardboard box, and walked out, heels clicking too fast.
The silence she left behind felt heavy—and clean.
“Come outside,” Tristan said quietly to Tom. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Tom followed him out of the building, the crisp Washington air clearing his head. In the parking lot sat a sleek, gently used sedan with a big blue bow on the hood.
“What do you think?” Tristan asked.
“It’s a beautiful car,” Tom said, confused.
“It’s yours,” Tristan said.
Tom stared. “Mine? I told you we couldn’t even afford to fix our old car. I can’t accept—”
“Take it as a thank-you,” Tristan said. “For your hard work. For how you treat people. For how you showed me what real leadership looks like from the middle of the org chart.”
Tom’s throat tightened. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me you’ll drive it to work on time every morning,” Tristan said with a grin. “Because a lot of employees are going to rely on your punctuality.”
“I don’t understand,” Tom said slowly.
“Tom,” Tristan said, “I’d like to formally offer you the manager position. You already interviewed.”
Tom blinked. “I didn’t—”
“Last night,” Tristan said. “At your dinner table. When I asked you how you would describe your management style. How you handle failure. How you work with difficult people. You answered better than most candidates do when they’ve had weeks to prepare. And beyond the words—you’ve shown me you put people first, even when you’re exhausted, even when you’re scared. That’s what I want leading this team.”
Tears stung Tom’s eyes.
“I accept,” he said. “Thank you. Thank you.”
A week later, Tom stood back in his kitchen, phone in hand. On the screen was a notification from a sales website.
Item Sold: Gold Wedding Band – Buyer: Tristan F.
“Of course,” Tom muttered, half laughing, half crying.
When Tristan came over that weekend, he handed Tom a small velvet box.
“I think this belongs to you,” he said.
Tom opened it.
“My ring,” he whispered. “But I sold it to someone named Tristan online.”
“That was me,” Tristan said. “I recognized your name. I knew I had to buy it before someone else did.”
“Thank you,” Tom said, voice thick. “You have no idea how much this means.”
“I think I do,” Tristan replied softly.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
“It’s Mom,” Delilah called from the hallway. “I’ll get it.”
The door swung open.
“Tommy,” his mother said, stepping in. “Oh, honey. It’s so good to see you.” She hugged him tightly.
“It’s good to see you too, Mom,” he said, smiling.
“And this must be Delilah,” she said, turning. “Congratulations. Your baby is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Delilah said. “She’s sleeping now, but when she wakes up, you can hold her.”
“I can’t wait,” his mother said, emotion in her voice.
She stepped into the living room—and froze.
“You,” she whispered.
Tristan, who had been standing near the window, looked up.
“Ma’am?” he asked carefully.
“Tristan,” she breathed.
Tom looked between them. “You two know each other?” he asked, confused.
His mother’s eyes shone.
“He’s my son,” she said quietly. “Your half brother, Tommy.”
The room went completely still.
“The divorce with his father was messy,” she said. “When I left to start a new life, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see him again. I tried, but distance and lawyers and… everything got in the way.”
Tom stared at Tristan.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “You’re not just the CEO who went undercover. You’re my brother.”
“I guess so, bro,” Tristan said, a smile breaking through the shock.
“This explains so much,” Tom said. “No wonder I thought you and Mom had the same eyes. I always felt like I’d known you longer than a week.”
“I’d hoped there would be some way we’d all reconnect,” his mother said, voice unsteady. “I just never imagined it would happen like this. In Seattle. In your house. With a baby in the other room.”
“Better late than never,” Tristan said.
Delilah laughed softly, wiping her eyes. “You three probably have a lot to catch up on,” she said. “But first—does anyone want ice cream?”
“Yes, please,” Tristan said automatically.
“Let me guess,” Tom said. “Butter pecan.”
Tristan’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”
Tom smiled.
“Just a brother’s instinct,” he said.
They all laughed, the sound mingling with the quiet breathing of a sleeping baby down the hall, and for the first time in a long time, Tom’s world felt not like it was falling apart, but like it was coming together—messy, unexpected, and strangely perfect.
