The presentation ended with a soft click as the projector dimmed, and the room burst into polite applause.
Eliza straightened, smoothing her blazer with one hand and exhaling quietly. The final pitch had landed. Weeks of preparation, countless meetings, and endless late-night revisions had finally culminated in this single, breathless moment—the Foundation was on the verge of acquiring a transformative community outreach project that would redefine its reach for years to come.
Yet all Eliza could think about was whether Lyra had finished her nap without fussing.
Back home, Will was juggling his own virtual meetings while soothing their daughter through teething grumbles and reading her Goodnight Moon for the fourth time that morning.
He sent her a photo just as she stepped out of the boardroom—a slightly frazzled version of himself in a hoodie, hair a mess, Lyra curled in one arm like a sleepy koala, his laptop open behind them with a paused video call.
We survived nap time. Barely. Send coffee.
She laughed, texting back:
You're the one who said we didn't need a nanny yet, CEO Dad.
Don't question my brilliance, he replied. Also, please bring snacks.
By the end of the week, after paperwork had been signed and legal reviewed the acquisition agreements, Eliza pulled into their driveway later than usual, bone-tired and emotionally fried.
She stepped into the house, only to be greeted by low lights, music playing gently in the background, and Will in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and holding a wooden spoon.
"Don't say anything," he warned, pointing the spoon at her with mock seriousness. "Just get in the shower. Your suitcase is packed. We leave in twenty minutes."
Eliza blinked. "We're leaving?"
He grinned. "You said once you wished we could disappear into the trees for a few days. So. I found us a cottage in the countryside, booked through Monday."
"But—Lyra—"
"She's coming with us, obviously," he said, taking the files from under her arm. "And I've already postponed your Monday briefing and forwarded your emails. I know your password. It's literally 'WillIsHot.'"
She groaned. "You swore you wouldn't use that."
"I swore no such thing. Go shower."
Two hours later, they were driving through winding roads lined with fields of golden grass and swaying trees, the sun casting long shadows over the hills. Lyra had fallen asleep in the backseat, bundled in soft blankets, a pacifier clutched tightly in one fist.
The cottage was small, stone-walled and wrapped in ivy, tucked away behind a hedge of fragrant lavender. Inside, everything smelled like woodsmoke and pine. There were no clocks. No notifications. Just the sound of wind brushing against old windows and the distant chirp of birds.
That evening, wrapped in a blanket by the fire while Will made dinner, Eliza nursed Lyra with quiet contentment in her chest. It had been so long since she'd felt this unburdened by the world.
They sat out on the porch after dinner, watching the stars come out. Will held Lyra against his chest while she drifted off, humming something low and melodic.
"You were amazing this week," he said. "I know it wasn't easy."
"It wasn't," she admitted. "But it mattered. And I think it's going to do real good."
He kissed her knuckles. "So do I."
Silence stretched between them, comfortable and calm.
Then Eliza whispered, "Sometimes I think I only want quiet things now. Her laughter. Your voice. The wind."
Will glanced at her, smiling. "So let's keep choosing those things. No matter what comes."