Chapter 3: Do-over

Amelia

I pulled into Mom's driveway.

Today had been... a lot.

The boardroom disaster, Adrian Langford and his infuriatingly calm criticism. And my father and half sister showing up uninvited.

The porch light was on.

I grabbed the pastry box from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. The evening air was cool, brushing against my skin as I walked up the short path and knocked once before pushing the door open.

"Mom?"

"I'm in the kitchen!"

I barely made it three steps inside before she appeared in the hallway wiping her hands on a dish towel and before I could brace myself, I was wrapped in a warm hug that smelled faintly of vanilla and home.

"It’s been a while," she said, squeezing me tight.

I hugged her back, though a small smile tugged at my lips. "It’s been a week, Mom."

"That is a while," she insisted.

I pulled back and handed her the pastry box. "I brought your favorites."

Her face lit up immediately. "See? This is why you’re my favorite child."

I laughed, rolling my eyes, already walking toward the living room. "Don’t be dramatic. I’m your only child."

"That’s not the point," she called after me.

I dropped onto the couch, sinking into the familiar cushions with a quiet exhale. My body finally started to unwind, the tension in my shoulders loosening inch by inch.

Mom joined me a moment later on the couch, still holding the pastry box like it was treasure.

Then she spoke again

"Your father called."

I turned my head to her slowly.

"Mom…" I groaned

She sighed softly, the kind she always did when she knew I wouldn’t like what came next.

"He said you still refused to join his company."

I rubbed my temple slowly feeling the beginnings of a headache.

Of course he did. Because apparently, rejecting him consistently wasn’t enough.

"I honestly don’t even know why you still talk to him," I muttered.

Mom’s voice was gentle but firm. "He is still your father, Amelia."

I let out a quiet scoff, leaning back against the couch. And there it was.

The same sentence. The same defense. Every single time.

"I actually don’t get it," I said bluntly, shaking my head. "After everything he did… how are you still this calm to him."

Her brows pulled together slightly. "Amelia..."

The words hung in the air between us

What I didn’t understand, what I had never understood was how she still talked to him.

After everything. I was four years old when everything fell apart. Four years old when Mom found out Dad had another woman and another child.

Meaning even while married to mom, he was cheating.

I don't remember the shouting, but I remember the silence afterward.

I still remember the nights she thought I was asleep, then cried in the next room, the way the house felt too big and too quiet at the same time.

She filed for divorce not long after finding out.

Back then, I was angry enough for both of us.

Now? Almost 21 years later since the incidence, Now I wasn’t angry. Not really. I just… didn’t want anything to do with him. There’s a difference.

One my mother still refuses to understand. I don't even bear his last name.

Mom’s voice pulled me back.

"Amelia…"

I looked up and immediately caught the look in her eyes, the careful way she was watching me. The one that said I'd stepped too close to old wounds.

Right. I’d said too much.

I sighed and sat up straighter. "Sorry, Mom."

Her expression softened further. "It’s fine."

She nudged my knee gently. "How’s work going?"

I shrugged, stretching my legs out in front of me. "Eventful."

That earned me a look.

"Eventful how?"

I hesitated for half a second… then decided there was no point hiding it.

"I presented to a new client today."

"And?"

I tilted my head back against the couch. "He hated it."

Mom blinked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," I confirmed.

Her lips twitched like she was trying not to smile.

"And how did you take it?"

I glanced at her.

"How do you think I took it?"

That did make her laugh softly.

"Oh, Amelia…"

"I was professional," I added quickly.

Well... mostly.

She raised a brow clearly not convinced, but let it go.

"You’ve always been strong-willed," she said fondly.

Strong-willed. Well, that was one way to put it. Stubborn was probably more accurate

We talked for a while after that, about work, about nothing and everything at the same time. I stood after a moment, smoothing my hands down my dress.

"I should get going. I still have work to redo."

"You aren't leaving this house on an empty stomach." she said.

"Mom, I really have to go," I insisted, already heading toward the door. "I'll grab something on the way."

She let out a dramatic sigh, crossing her arms. "Take-out? Again?" She held up a finger before I could protest. "Fine. If you won't sit, I'll just pack it up for you . Give me five minutes."

She vanished into the kitchen before I could say no. I leaned against the doorframe.

She came back out few minutes later.

"There," she said, pressing the warm bag into my hands.

"Thank you so much mom."

She walked me outside.

At my car, I leaned in and hugged her again.

"Love you, Mom."

She squeezed me tight. "Love you too, baby."

By the time I got home, exhaustion had started creeping in properly.

I kicked off my heels the second the door closed behind me. Freedom.

I changed out of my work clothes, took a shower, and grabbed the food Mom had packed for me. Dinner was quick, quiet, and exactly what I needed.

I had just opened my laptop when my phone started ringing.

Zoey.

A smile tugged at my lips before I even answered.

"Hey Zo!"

Her cheerful voice burst through immediately. "Tell me you’re on your way to the bar."

I groaned, dropping back into my chair. "I wish. I have too much work to fix."

"You are no fun," she complained. "Brianna and I are already here."

"Next time," I promised. "I mean it."

She sighed dramatically. "Fine. You better come next time."

I smiled. "No problem at all."

After the call ended, the apartment fell quiet again.

My gaze slowly shifted to the open proposal on my screen.

Right.

The one Mr. Cold and Calculating called a 'waste of his time.'

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for exactly two seconds before I started typing.

If Adrian Langford thought my work wasn’t good enough…

I was about to give him something he couldn’t ignore.