We sat at my kitchen table, right where we’d sat before. I put the kettle on. She watched my hands and didn’t say anything. When I set a cup of tea in front of her, she didn’t touch it.
“I have the accounting,” she said.
She slid the envelope across the table.
“Everything. Every order. Every dollar. Eleven sales total. Three thousand, two hundred and forty dollars. Plus the Brand Hive retainer, which I…” She stopped. “Which I paid out of our family savings account. Garrett didn’t know how much.”
I opened it. She’d done it neatly, in columns. It was a better ledger than I’d expected.
“Four thousand dollars went to a down payment on a studio space in Columbus,” she said. “I’ve canceled the lease. I lost the deposit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She laughed, thin and tired. “It was a stupid idea. Some part of me knew it. I just thought if I could build something that was mine…”
“Something that mattered.”
“Yes.”
I closed the folder.
“Britney,” I said. “May I tell you something?”
“Please.”
“When I was thirty-one years old, I got passed over for a promotion. Head of food services for the whole district. They gave it to a man named Gerald who’d been there four years. I’d been there nine.”
She looked at me.
“I went home that night, and I baked a hundred and twelve cupcakes for no reason at all,” I said. “And I cried into the frosting.”
A small, broken laugh came out of her.
“I didn’t have a brand,” I said. “I had a mixer. But I understand what it is to want somebody to see you.”
Her face crumpled. She put her hand over her mouth.
“I called you a background element,” she whispered.
“You did.”
“I’ve never been so ashamed of anything in my life.”
“It was an honest thing to say.”
“It was horrible!”
“It was true,” I said. “From where you were standing. I’d made myself one.”
She stared at me.
“For eleven years,” I said, “I sat at the edge of every room. I cooked. I cleaned. I never once asked anybody for a thing. I thought that was love. I thought if I stayed small enough, nobody could get hurt.”
I took a breath.
“I think I taught you exactly what I was worth.”
She was crying openly now. The rain ticked against my kitchen window.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor.”
“I know.”
“What do I do?”
“You could start,” I said gently, “by calling me Eleanor.”
She laughed through her tears, startled. “I just did.”
“So you did.”
“Eleanor.”
“Better.”
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.