Chapter 20 - Samantha’s Promotion
Samantha got the promotion.
Eight months late.
Director of forensic services.
She called screaming.
I screamed too.
Then she said:
“You owe me dinner.”
“You hit my ex husband with a lamp. I think I paid.”
“That was complimentary.”
We went to a restaurant downtown.
She ordered champagne.
I asked:
“Did helping me almost ruin your career?”
“No.”
“It delayed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret?”
“No.”
“Never?”
She thought.
“I regret not setting firmer boundaries sooner.”
“What?”
“I became your emergency contact, accountant, storage unit, driver, security planner, emotional hotline.”
I stared.
“You never said.”
“You were surviving.”
“And now?”
“Now you’re not.”
That hurt in a good way.
“So what boundary?”
“If you call me at two a.m. because you’re sad, fine. If you call me at two a.m. because you think you need permission to text your mother, therapy.”
I laughed.
“Fair.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Which is why I’m resigning from being your unpaid crisis-management department.”
That was another part of healing.
Not turning Samantha into replacement controller.
I needed my own decisions.
That night I took a rideshare home alone.
No fear.
I checked building camera once.
May you like
Not seven times.
Progress.
