For years, people had called Victor the brain and me the heart.
I finally understood why the joke had bothered me near the end.
A heart was expected to keep giving, no matter what was done to it.
But I had always been more than that.
I had negotiated contracts.
Raised money.
Managed clients.
Built systems.
Read rooms.
Survived grief.
And, when the truth finally appeared on a sheet of paper, I had learned to read every line.
I stepped into my office and closed the door behind me.
For the first time in months, the silence did not feel like rejection.
It felt like mine.
