Chapter 11: Grief Without Permission
I left Daniel’s message unanswered.
The phone lay beside the report, its screen dark now, but the question remained bright in my mind. Would I tell his wife anything if she contacted me?
I didn’t know what she had heard. I didn’t know what Daniel had told her. And the thought of explaining our marriage to someone who had once chosen to enter it made my chest feel too tight.
But that wasn’t the only reason I couldn’t answer.
His question had opened a door I’d been trying to keep closed—not because I wanted to forget what was behind it, but because some days I needed to get through the hours without looking inside.
I missed my daughter.
I missed the future I had expected, too. The ordinary days I’d pictured without thinking they could ever become something I might lose. I had once counted time by how far along I was, believing that each week brought me closer to a life I could hold in my arms.
Now I was left with memories, questions, and a grief I couldn’t neatly explain.
I put the phone facedown and finished the report.
The next morning, I carried that heaviness home with me. Aunty noticed before I had taken off my coat.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said.
“I’m all right.”
She didn’t challenge me. She waited while I set down my bag and sat at the kitchen table.
After a moment, I told her about Daniel’s message.
“He asked if I would tell his wife anything if she contacted me.”
Aunty’s expression tightened, but she didn’t rush to answer.
“I haven’t replied,” I added. “I don’t even know what he means by ‘the truth.’”
“You don’t have to answer him tonight.”
“I know.”
Still, the message had brought everything back. Not just Daniel. Not just the marriage. The life I thought I would have by now.
My voice caught.
“I miss her.”
Aunty reached across the table and laid her hand over mine.
“I know, sweetheart.”
I lowered my eyes. I couldn’t make myself say more. I wasn’t sure I could explain what I was feeling without turning it into something simpler than it was.
Aunty didn’t ask me to try. She didn’t ask what had happened or what I planned to do next. She simply sat with me, her hand steady on mine, and let the silence be what it was.
After a while, my breathing eased. The ache didn’t disappear. It didn’t have to. For once, I didn’t scold myself for still feeling it.
“I don’t want his question to become my responsibility,” I said.
“It isn’t,” Aunty replied. “You get to decide what you do with it.”
I nodded. I was grateful she hadn’t told me what to do. I needed support, not another person handing me a decision and calling it help.
The next morning, I took my work home with me—not because anyone had asked me to, but because I wanted to finish checking a follow-up summary before the team used it. One page still listed a signature as completed when it was only pending. It was a small error, but if it stayed in the report, someone might treat the work as finished when it wasn’t.
I opened the file and compared it with the notes I had saved. Seventeen forms were complete. One still needed a signature. I corrected the page, checked it again, and sent the revised copy to the follow-up team with a short note identifying what had changed.
I didn’t rush. I didn’t try to make the work prove anything about me. I simply finished what I had chosen to finish, carefully and clearly.
At the office, Aiden asked me to stop by his office.
“Do you have a few minutes?”
“Yes, sir.”
He gestured to the chair across from his desk. A printed document sat between us.
“I’ve completed the review we discussed,” he said. “It includes the work you’ve done on the branch reports and follow-up. I also put together a possible operations-support assignment, with the duties and schedule listed.”
I picked up the pages. The responsibilities were written plainly: verifying reports, tracking outstanding paperwork, coordinating follow-up, and preparing summaries for the team. The schedule and reporting line were there, too.
It was the kind of work I had told him I wanted. It used the training I had worked for rather than leaving me with a desk to keep tidy and a list of errands.
I read the description once, then again.
“This is a possible permanent assignment?” I asked.
“If you’re interested. It’s a proposal, not a decision I’ve made for you.”
I looked up. “And I don’t have to decide now?”
“No. Take the document. Review it. If anything is unclear or doesn’t work for you, say so. Your past assignments are part of the review, but the position has to make sense on its own.”
There was no promise that everything would be easy. No suggestion that I owed him gratitude by accepting.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll look through it carefully.”
“Of course. I’d like to discuss it with you after you’ve had time. Would you be available Thursday morning?”
I checked my calendar.
“Ten o’clock works.”
“Then I’ll send an invitation.”
I carried the document back to my desk and read through the duties, noting a few questions in the margin. Nothing felt decided yet. But the opportunity was real, and it had come from work I had actually done.
Later, my personal phone vibrated.
Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.
I hesitated before opening the message.
“I know I said I wouldn’t ask to meet, and I understand if you say no. But I’m asking for one final conversation. I need to explain what I meant about the truth. Can you speak with me Thursday?”
I read it twice. He had acknowledged the boundary before stepping over it again.
My eyes moved to the calendar invitation Aiden had just sent. Thursday, ten o’clock: operations-support role review.
May you like
I set the phone beside the written duties. One request was about a future I could choose. The other was about a past I had already told Daniel I would not discuss.
Neither deserved an answer just because it had arrived.
