“Not enough.”
He accepted that.
You took the coffee anyway.
For a while, you walked without speaking.
Queens at night felt different from Midtown. Less polished. More alive. Music through apartment windows. A dog barking. People laughing outside a bodega. Someone arguing with a delivery app like it had personally betrayed them.
Alejandro looked out of place, but he did not complain.
Finally, he said, “Are you going to sign?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you afraid of?”
You gave him a look.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Sofia.”
Fine.
You stopped walking.
“I’m afraid that if I go back, everyone will turn my pain into some inspirational corporate comeback story. I’m afraid they’ll applaud me for surviving something they should have prevented. I’m afraid I’ll spend the rest of my career cleaning up messes made by men who make more money than the women saving them.”
