You didn’t get here by accident or sympathy. You earned it. Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. I know. I spent the first 5 years as CEO feeling like everyone was waiting for me to fail. Imposttor syndrome doesn’t care about your actual qualifications. Victoria leaned forward. But here’s what I learned. The people who belong somewhere don’t always feel like they belong.
The ones who feel entitled to their position, they’re usually the least qualified. See, Noah wanted to believe her. What if he’s right, though? What if I’m just the tragic story you’re using to make your foundation look authentic? Then fire me. Noah blinked. What? If you genuinely believe I’m using you, exploiting your story, treating you as a prop instead of a partner, quit. Walk away.
Find another job where you feel respected. Victoria’s expression was serious. But don’t stay here if you think I see you as anything less than essential to this mission. I don’t want to quit. Then stop listening to David Reeves and start trusting that maybe, just maybe, you deserve this opportunity. She stood up. I need you, Noah.
Not as a symbol or a story, but as the person running this foundation. No one else can do what you’re doing. Please believe that. After Victoria left, Noah sat with her words for a long time. Then he opened his email and started working again, pushing through the doubt like he’d pushed through every other hard thing in his life.
The weeks after the launch were chaotic in ways Noah hadn’t anticipated. The viral speech meant increased scrutiny, more media requests, and a flood of families reaching out for help. The foundation’s small staff was overwhelmed trying to keep up with applications and donations and public interest. Noah hired more people carefully with Victoria’s approval, including a case manager named Patricia, who’d spent 20 years in social services, and knew how to navigate systems that seem designed to make helping people as difficult as possible. Bureaucracy is my
love language, Patricia announced during her first week. Show me a complicated application process and I’ll find the loopholes. She was exactly what they needed. Emma’s 9th birthday came and went with a party at Victoria’s house that was far bigger than anything Noah had planned. Emma didn’t seem to mind the excess.
She was too busy showing her friends the pool and the game room and the elaborate cake Victoria had insisted on ordering. “This is too much,” Noah told Victoria as they watched a dozen 9-year-olds run screaming through the garden. “It’s a birthday party. Let me spoil her a little.” “A little. There’s a bounce house.
Every kid should have a bounce house at their birthday. I can’t compete with this next year.” Victoria bumped his shoulder with hers. You’re not competing. You’re Emma’s dad. I’m just the person with too much money and no idea how to spend it meaningfully. You’re spending it meaningfully. The foundation um is work. This is different.
Victoria watched Emma laughing with her friends and something softened in her expression. I never had birthday parties like this growing up. Everything was formal and adult. I want Emma to have what I didn’t. Noah understood then that this wasn’t about Emma, or not entirely. It was about Victoria trying to figure out how to be the parent she’d never had.
Practicing on someone else’s kid before her own arrived. She loves you, you know, Noah said quietly. Emma, she’s been making you baby gifts for weeks. Won’t show me what they are, but I know she’s planning something. Victoria’s eyes got bright and she blinked quickly. She doesn’t have to do that. I know she wants to. They stood together watching the party chaos and Noah felt that dangerous warmth in his chest again.
The feeling that this Victoria, Emma, this strange life they were building might be something more than professional partnership and friendship. He pushed the feeling down. Victoria was 7 months pregnant with another man’s baby. She was his boss. Getting emotionally tangled up with her would be a disaster for everyone involved.
But then Victoria reached out and took his hand, threading their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Noah’s carefully constructed boundaries felt fragile as paper. “Thank you,” Victoria said softly. “For letting me be part of this, part of Emma’s life.” “You don’t have to thank me.” “I do, though. You didn’t have to include me.
I’m just your boss who hired you a few months ago. You’re not just anything. Noah squeezed her hand. Your family now, both of you. Victoria looked at him, and something passed between them that felt significant and terrifying and inevitable. Then Emma appeared, soaking wet from the pool and demanding they come see the trick she’d learned from Jordan.
The moment broke, but the feeling lingered. That night, after Emma had fallen asleep, surrounded by birthday presents, Noah’s phone buzzed with a text from Victoria. Thank you for today. I haven’t been that happy in a long time. Noah stared at the message for a full minute before typing back. Me either. Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
This is complicated, isn’t it? Noah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could deflect, pretend he didn’t know what she meant, or he could be honest. Yeah, it is. I don’t know what to do about that. Me either. More dots. Then maybe we don’t do anything. Just let it be complicated. Is that wise? Probably not, but I’m tired of being wise. Wisdom is overrated.
