Steadfast

Kay arrived at my house two days before she stepped into the office in my place. I was still in recovery—both physically and emotionally—from the abortion, and each morning felt heavier than the one before. The air inside my home seemed to carry its own silence, pressing against me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Over coffee, she studied me with the sharpness of a lawyer and the tenderness of a best friend.

“I’ll keep everything running,” she said simply. “You need to focus on healing.”

I managed a weak smile, though my guilt sat heavy in my chest. “Eight to fourteen hours a day is too much, Kay. You can’t carry it all.”

She smirked, but her eyes stayed warm. “You’ve done it for years. I can do it for a few weeks. Tara can’t shoulder this on her own.”

I wanted to push back, to tell her she didn’t need to drown herself in my responsibilities, but the truth was unavoidable: I wasn’t ready to return. My body still ached, and my heart was even slower to mend. So I nodded, surrendering the fight.

Kay set up in my personal office at the company, anchoring the staff with a steadiness that surprised no one but me. Her primary partner was Tara, but the whole team relied on her presence. James and Jimothy orbited naturally toward Tara as she grew more confident, their respect for her becoming clear in every conversation. Kay, Tara, James, and Jimothy reserved the conference room a few times each week to strategize over the Madison account. For those two hours each time, the room hummed with arguments, calculations, and decisions.

One afternoon, Kay tapped her finger against the Madison file as the others sat around the long table. “This account has been stagnant too long. James, numbers first.”

James glanced at his papers. “We’re behind by two weeks. Revenue is stable, but projections need to be finalized.”

“Then finalize them,” Kay said evenly, before turning. “Jimothy?”

He leaned back, speaking with easy confidence. “Clients are nervous, but willing to follow our lead. They just need reassurance we’re ahead of the game.”

Tara leaned forward, her pencil tapping. “I’ve drafted a more aggressive diversification plan. Riskier than what Deppgrl usually signs off on, but it could build trust by showing initiative.”

Kay considered them all, her tone sharpening. “Prepare both plans—the conservative one and Tara’s aggressive model. Nothing goes forward without Deppgrl’s approval. But we need to show clients we’re not standing still.”

James frowned slightly. “Running both tracks will strain deadlines.”

Kay met his gaze without flinching. “Then tighten the schedule. Daily updates, no surprises. Jimothy, summarize the client concerns. Tara, polish your model. James, finish the projections and prepare the executive summary. I want clarity first, then action.”

Jimothy smirked. “Organized chaos. I can live with that.”

Kay’s reply was immediate. “Efficiency isn’t chaos. Stay focused. The clients trust us because we see ahead.”

The work became a rhythm. Reports refined, strategies sharpened, and the Madison account—once stagnant—finally began to move forward. At home, Kay would recount the day, her exhaustion softened by pride. “They’re stronger than they realize,” she told me one night, wine glass in hand. “Tara especially. You’ve built something solid.”

Her words comforted me, but they also stung. “That’s all I ever wanted,” I admitted quietly. “For them to survive without me.”

“You didn’t fail them,” she said. “You survived.”

During those weeks, I kept the office fed with catered meals and quietly made sure bills were paid. Several staff members had been struggling financially, their credit cards stretched thin. I’d covered their payments under the guise of an anonymous donor. “They’ll never know it’s me,” I told Kay one evening, the weight of memory pulling me back to when I had lived paycheck to paycheck.

She only shook her head softly. “You always take care of everyone. Just remember to take care of yourself too.”

A week and a half after sending Tara the email about her promotion, I returned to work full-time. Kay had urged me to name her junior partner, and after watching Tara rise to every demand in my absence, I agreed. My email confirmed it: as soon as I was officially back, she would assume the role. Her reply came within minutes—grateful, humble, and quietly proud.

The familiar hum of printers, the smell of coffee, and the murmur of voices washed over me like something both foreign and dear. Kay had prepared every legal document for Tara’s promotion. Together, Tara and I signed them, her new title marking a turning point for the company. Afterward, Kay hugged me hard and whispered, “You’re back. Time for me to step away.”

That evening, she rolled her suitcases out of my house. I stood in the doorway, reluctant to let go. “You saved me, Kay.”

“Not saved,” she corrected. “I stood where you needed me. You did the hardest work.”

Before long, I spoke privately with Tara about her salary. “Because of the credit card payments and recent raises, it’ll take a little time before I can adjust your pay to match your new role.”

Tara gave a small, cautious smile. “I don’t expect a raise.” But I could see the quiet hope behind her words.

“When I can, I will,” I promised.

Through it all, Vince’s first edition deliveries arrived daily, each book carrying a note folded between the pages. Some were long, others no more than a single line: You are not alone. I read them late at night, running my fingers over his handwriting, torn between gratitude and exhaustion.

And at the very end, when I was ready to close that chapter for good, I gathered every book and every note and boxed them. I returned them to Vince with one final message tucked inside. I thanked him for thinking of me, for caring in his own way, but told him he had pushed me past my limits. Our friendship—and any chance of reconciliation—was over. He had chosen to listen to his priest instead of the woman he claimed to love.

I ended the note with finality: the pressure from both him and his priest had been too much. He needed to take a step back, to reclaim himself. And I reminded him he should get his money back on the books. I had already reached out to the vendors, remembering exactly where we’d first seen them, and they were willing to accept the returns and issue a full refund.

That was the end—not just of the books, but of us.