Chapter 5: Interview

Claire's POV

The call from Nathan left a cold residue in my veins, but not the kind he'd intended. It wasn't fear. It was… clarity.

I set the phone down on the chipped kitchen table, my hand steady. In the next room, I could hear the soft scratch of Leo's crayon on paper. The ordinary sounds of our life now—the echo in this old apartment, the smell of boxed mac and cheese from dinner—they wrapped around me like a shield.

But his words had claws. They scraped at old wounds.

‘You have nothing.'

Once, that would have been true. I'd been at the top of my class at Columbia, my future a wide-open blueprint. Then Ben came, so frighteningly small, and Nathan looked at me with those desperate, loving eyes. "Just until he's stronger. I'll take care of everything. You won't have to worry." He gave me a black AmEx, a gilded cage. I traded my drafting table for doctor's appointments, my design critiques for debates on the best organic peanut butter.

I told myself it was a sacrifice for love. That my value had just… changed shape.

He saw it as me becoming worthless. A pet. A dependent. Something that couldn't survive on its own.

A dry, hollow sound escaped me. Not a laugh. The sheer blindness of it took my breath away.

A small pressure against my arm. I looked down. Leo stood there, holding a glass of water with both hands. "You look mad," he stated, matter-of-factly. He set the water down carefully and then started kneading my forearm with his small, serious hands. "Does this help?"

The ice in my chest shattered. A warmth so fierce it threatened to spill from my eyes flooded in. I pulled him into a one-armed hug, kissing the top of his messy hair. "It helps more than anything," I whispered, my voice thick.

See? Not all love demanded you shrink yourself to fit. Some love just showed up with a glass of water.

My phone rang again. I tensed, my body bracing for the next wave of Nathan's fury. But the number was unknown. A 212 area code. Manhattan.

"Hello?" I said, cautious.

"Claire Sterling?" A woman's voice, brisk but not unkind.

"Yes?"

"This is Maya from Thorne & Associates HR. We received your application."

My heart stuttered to a stop. Thorne & Associates. Carter Thorne's firm. The desperate, reckless email. It had actually landed somewhere.

"I… yes. Thank you for looking at it." I tried to sound professional, not like someone clinging to a lifeline.

"Mr. Thorne was impressed with your… unique perspective," she said, and I could hear the faintest knowing smile in her tone. "He'd like to meet you. Can you come in tomorrow at 10 AM?"

For a moment, the words didn't make sense. The silence on my end stretched.

"Ms. Sterling?"

"Yes!" The word burst out of me. "Yes, of course. Ten AM. I'll be there. Thank you."

I ended the call and just stared at the phone, then at the worn surface of my own kitchen table. In my own apartment. The two anchors of my new life.

Leo was watching me, his head tilted. "Good call?"

A real smile, wide and disbelieving, broke across my face. I pulled him into a proper hug, squeezing him tight. "The best call," I said, my voice shaking with a hope so sharp it felt like a new kind of strength. "Something good is starting."

The world Nathan was so sure I couldn't survive in was waiting. And for the first time, I felt ready to walk into it.

The next morning, I dressed with a precision I hadn't allowed myself in years. Simple black trousers, a cream silk blouse from a past life, my hair pulled back in a severe, elegant knot. I looked in the mirror and saw a stranger—hollowed out by grief and fear, but with a glint of hard light in her eyes that I almost recognized.

Leo watched, clutching his worn teddy bear. "You look fancy, Mommy."

"I have a job interview, sweetheart." I knelt, straightening his collar. "And I need my best assistant with me. Can you be on your best behavior?"

He nodded, his small face solemn. "I'll be so good they'll give you two jobs."

The email had given an address in SoHo. When the rideshare pulled up, my breath caught. It wasn't a glass corporate tower. It was ‘The Blueprint,' a sprawling, famous café known for its industrial design and—my heart leapt—a secure, supervised play area for children.

A wave of relief so potent it made my knees weak washed over me. I'd been tearing myself apart over what to do with Leo. This was a gift. A small mercy.

I paid the driver—a painful dent in my cash—and took Leo's hand. The moment we stepped inside, his gaze locked onto the colorful play zone behind its plexiglass wall.

He tugged my hand. "Mommy. Can I go? I'll be quiet." He held up his wrist, showing the basic kids' GPS watch I'd found at a thrift store and fixed up. "I have my communicator."

A server approached with a smile. "We have a dedicated play attendant, ma'am. Completely secure. You can focus on your meeting."

My throat tightened. I crouched, cupping his dear face. "You listen to the attendant, okay? Don't leave the area. I'll be right over there." I pointed to the seating section.

Leo gave a crisp, ridiculous salute. "Mission accepted!"

I watched him dart off, immediately negotiating the sharing of a toy truck with another boy. The simple, normal sight made my heart ache with a hopeful kind of pain. I turned, squaring my shoulders, and followed the server.