Chapter 2 - The Sound of Silence
The silence that followed was deafening. Over the next two weeks, neither my mother, nor Brinn, nor Kyle called to ask if Maisie and I had made it home through the pouring rain. They posted photos on social media instead. Evelyn was beaming over a three-tiered lemon cake at an upscale vineyard in the Willamette Valley. Brinn was raising a glass of pinot noir in a designer silk blouse. Kyle had his arm slung over Mom’s shoulders, grinning like the golden boy he had always been.
The caption read: ""Pure peace with my favorite people. Exactly what my soul needed!""
I stared at the screen while holding a bottle to Maisie’s lips. Not a single person in the comments knew that eighty miles north, a three-month-old granddaughter had been turned away at the gates so Evelyn’s photos wouldn’t feature spit-up or diaper bags. None of them knew that the cashmere scarf wrapped around Evelyn's neck in the photo was one she had bought for herself because the one I purchased was still sitting on my counter, destined for a return bin.
I didn't leave a comment. I didn't hit like. Instead, I opened my laptop and threw myself into my work. Before taking maternity leave, I had been an associate architectural designer at a mid-tier firm, drafting blueprints for high-end residential renovations. While Derek had assumed I would collapse into helpless poverty after he abandoned his lease and disappeared into southern California, I had been quietly picking up freelance drafting contracts during Maisie’s nap hours.
Sleep became a secondary priority. I woke up at five in the morning to draft 3D structural models before Maisie opened her eyes. When she slept in the afternoon, I reviewed local zoning laws and structural engineering schematics. My living room was transformed into an obstacle course of baby playmats, rolls of trace paper, and an industrial-grade monitor perched on a folding table.
Three weeks after the birthday incident, my old college roommate, Clara, called me out of the blue. Clara had always moved in circles far above mine; she managed luxury hospitality venues and high-end estates on Mercer Island and Bainbridge.
""Jenna, I’m in a massive bind,"" Clara said without preamble, her voice tight with stress. ""The lead concept designer for the Vance Estate renovation just walked off the project after a massive ego clash with the owner. It’s an eight-thousand-square-foot lakefront rebuild. The structural work is done, but the interior spatial redesign and holiday staging need a visionary who actually listens. The deadline is insane, but the payout is six figures. Can you take a meeting tomorrow?""
My heart slammed against my ribs. ""Clara, I have a three-month-old baby attached to my hip twenty-four hours a day.""
""Bring her,"" Clara replied instantly. ""Arthur Vance is seventy-two, eccentric, and hates corporate stiffs. He cares about results and authenticity, not whether you have an entourage. If your designs are solid, he won't care if there's a stroller in the room.""
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I looked at Maisie, who was batting at a plush elephant hanging from her swing. My savings account had two months of rent left. My family had discarded us. If I wanted to build a fortress around this child that no one could ever breach, I couldn't afford to hesitate.
""Send me the address,"" I said.
