Chapter 5: After The Fall

A week had passed since I'd come home, and I was starting to feel almost human again. The familiar routines of the Jones mansion—breakfast at eight, fresh flowers changed daily, the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway—had wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Mrs. Howell had been feeding me her chicken soup and homemade bread every day, and the dark circles under my eyes were finally starting to fade.

I was sitting at the dining table in the living room, picking at my scrambled eggs and reading the financial news on my tablet, when Mother walked in carrying a stack of newspapers and magazines. She looked perfectly put together as always in her navy blazer and pearls, but there was something different about her expression. Something that made my stomach tighten.

"Good morning, darling," she said, settling into the chair across from me. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better," I said carefully. "The sleep helps. And Mrs. Howell's cooking."

"Good. You're looking more like yourself." She poured herself coffee from the silver pot, taking her time. "I think it's time we talked about your future."

The way she said it made me put down my fork. "My future?"

"You can't hide in this house forever, Emelda. You're twenty-eight years old, brilliant, and you have a legacy to think about. The Jones name needs to continue, and it needs to continue strong."

"Mother, I just got my heart broken a week ago. I'm not ready to think about…"

"About what? About moving forward? About reclaiming your life?" She leaned forward, her steel-gray eyes intense. "That's exactly what you need to think about. While you've been healing, the world has kept turning. Business has kept moving. And Allen has kept making decisions that affect how people see you."

Something cold settled in my chest. "What do you mean?"

Instead of answering, she spread the newspapers and magazines across the table. The society pages, business journals, gossip columns—all opened to specific articles. My hands shook as I picked up the first one.

"CEO of Cater Enterprises set to Wed his lover and business partner Rachel Sanchez," read the headline. Below it was a photo of Allen and Rachel at some fancy restaurant, both of them beaming at the camera. She was wearing the diamond ring she flaunted that night at the IPO celebration party, and he had his arm around her waist like he owned her.

"Where is this from?" I whispered.

"Yesterday's paper. The announcement went out two days ago." Mother's voice was gentle but firm. "The wedding is set for next month. A small, intimate ceremony at the Morrison country club."

I grabbed another paper. "Power Couple of the Year: Allen Cater and Rachel Sanchez Plan Fall Wedding." This one had more photos—them at charity galas, art openings, business events. In every picture, they looked perfect together. Happy. Like they'd been together forever.

"One month," I said, my voice cracking. "He's marrying her in one month."

"He probably had it all planned before he even broke up with you," Mother said quietly. "Men like Allen don't make sudden decisions. They plan their moves carefully, and they always have a backup ready."

I kept flipping through the articles, each one feeling like a stab to the heart. "Listen to this," I said, reading from one of the business journals. "'When asked about his rapid success, Cater credits his focus on the future rather than dwelling on the past. He's excited to start this new chapter with Sanchez, who shares his vision for expanding into new markets.'"

"He's already erasing you from the story," Mother observed. "Making it sound like you were holding him back instead of building him up."

The newspapers blurred as tears filled my eyes. How could he already be planning to marry that woman he met just barely six months ago? We were together for five years."

"Because he never loved you the way you loved him," Mother said, reaching across to squeeze my hand. "I know that's hard to hear, but it's the truth. 

I wiped my eyes with my napkin, trying to pull myself together. "So what am I supposed to do? Just accept it? Just let him win?"

"No, darling. You're supposed to remember who you are." Mother stood and walked to the window, looking out over the gardens. "You're supposed to remember that you're a Jones, and the Jones family doesn't just survive—we thrive."

She turned back to me, and I saw that calculating look in her eyes again. The one that meant she was about to change everything.

"I've been thinking about your situation all week," she continued. "About how to help you rebuild not just your confidence, but your position in the world. Allen may have damaged your reputation by leaving you, but that doesn't mean you have to stay damaged."

"Mother, what are you talking about?"

She returned to her seat and pulled out a manila folder from beneath the newspapers. "I want you to meet someone. Someone who could be very good for you, and very good for the Jones legacy."

My stomach dropped. "Oh no. No, no, no. Please tell me you're not…"

"His name is Smith Robinson. He's the heir to Robinson Industries, and he's been looking for the right woman to settle down with. Someone with intelligence, class, and the right family connections."

"An arranged marriage?" I stood up so fast my chair nearly fell over. "Are you serious right now? I just got my heart broken by one man, and you want to throw me at another one?"

"I want to give you options," Mother said calmly. "Options that don't involve you wallowing in self-pity while Allen gets everything he wants."

"I am not wallowing! I'm healing!"

"You're hiding," she corrected. "And while you're hiding, he's out there building his new life with his new wife, and everyone is forgetting that you ever existed. Is that what you want?"

"I want to be left alone!"

"Well, you can't be. You have responsibilities, Emelda. To yourself, to this family, to the empire we've built. You can't just disappear because one man broke your heart."

I started pacing around the room, my hands shaking with anger. "I can't believe you're doing this. I can't believe you're actually trying to sell me off like some kind of business deal."

"It's not selling you off. It's giving you a chance to rebuild your life with someone who actually deserves you." Mother opened the folder and pulled out a photograph. "At least look at him before you decide."

"I don't want to look at him! I don't want to meet him! I just want…"

"Your choices led you here, darling," Mother interrupted, her voice turning sharp. "Your choice to leave everything for Allen. Your choice to let him take credit for your work. Your choice to make yourself invisible. Now let us fix what you've broken."

The words hit me like a slap. I stopped pacing and stared at her. "What I've broken?"

"You broke your own life, Emelda. You had everything—money, position, respect, a future—and you threw it all away for a man who was never going to choose you over his own ambition. Well, now you get to live with the consequences."

"I loved him," I said quietly. "I really loved him."

"I know you did. And that's exactly why you need to be smarter this time." She held out the photograph. "Just look. That's all I'm asking."

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to storm out of the room and slam the door behind me. But something in her expression stopped me. Not the hardness I was used to, but something softer. Something that looked almost like worry.

Slowly, I took the photograph.

The man looking back at me was nothing like Allen. Where Allen was all sharp angles and calculated smiles, this man had a gentleness to his features. He looked to be in his early thirties, with dark hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He was wearing a simple button-down shirt and jeans, sitting on what looked like a park bench with a golden retriever at his feet.

"He's handsome," I admitted reluctantly.

"He's more than handsome. He's decent. He graduated from Harvard Business School, but he spends his weekends volunteering at animal shelters. 

I set the photo down on the table, my heart racing. "I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"You'll never be ready. But you can be brave." Mother reached across and took my hand. "One meeting. Just coffee. See if you like him. If you don't, we'll figure out something else. But don't let fear keep you from even trying."

I looked at the newspapers scattered across the table, at Allen's smiling face in every photo. At Rachel's perfect engagement ring and perfect dress and perfect life that should have been mine.

"One meeting," I said quietly. "Just coffee."

Mother smiled, and for the first time in a week, it wasn't her business smile. It was the smile of a mother who wanted to protect her daughter from getting hurt again.

"I'll call him this afternoon," she said. "But Emelda?"

"Yes?"

"This time, don't disappear. Don't let someone else tell your story. Make sure the world knows exactly who you are."

I nodded, picking up Smith's photograph one more time. I looked at the photograph again. Smith Robinson looked like the kind of man who would hold doors open and remember anniversaries. The kind of man who would introduce me as his partner, not his assistant. The kind of man who would never make me feel invisible.

Maybe Mother was right. Maybe it was time to stop being invisible.

"Okay," I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. "Let's do this.”