Charlotte's POV — 9:47 AM
Charlotte was at the gallery, organizing files from Friday's opening, when her phone buzzed.
Mateo: Hey. Sorry I didn't respond this weekend. I needed to think.
Her heart jumped. She stepped into the back hallway to respond.
Charlotte: I understand. Did you come to any conclusions?
Mateo: Some. Can we talk? Maybe coffee this week?
Charlotte: Yes. When?
Mateo: Wednesday afternoon? 3pm at the Echo Park cafe?
Charlotte: I'll be there.
She stared at the phone, trying to interpret the tone. Was this a "let's work it out" conversation or a "let's officially end this" conversation?
No way to know until Wednesday.
Mateo's POV — Same Time
After sending the text, Mateo immediately wanted to take it back.
Wednesday gave him two days to figure out what he wanted to say. Two days to decide if he was brave enough to fight for this or smart enough to let it go.
Sophie would say fight for it.
His practical brain would say let it go.
His heart had no idea.
Part 1: Tuesday — Charlotte's Breaking Point
Charlotte's POV — West LA Contemporary Gallery
Tuesday started normally. Charlotte arrived early, organized RSVPs for an upcoming show, coordinated with artists.
Then at 11 AM, her mother walked into the gallery.
Charlotte froze.
Victoria Morgan stood in the doorway in a Chanel suit, looking completely out of place and completely in her element at the same time.
"Mother. What are you doing here?"
"I came to see where my daughter works." Victoria looked around the gallery with an appraising eye. "It's... nice."
"It's a good gallery."
"I'm sure it is." Victoria turned to Charlotte. "Can we talk? Privately?"
Lisa's office was empty. Charlotte led her mother there, heart pounding.
"What do you want?" Charlotte asked, closing the door.
"To understand." Victoria sat down carefully. "Charlotte, I've been patient. I've given you space to... work through whatever this is. But it's been three months. When are you coming home?"
"I'm not."
"Don't be childish. You can't sustain this forever. Your savings must be running low—"
"I have a job."
"A job that pays, what? Thirty thousand a year? Charlotte, you used to spend that on clothes."
"I don't need clothes. I need purpose."
Victoria's face softened slightly. "And you think you'll find it here? Working for someone else, coordinating parties for artists?"
"I'm curating. Or learning to. Lisa wants me to run the emerging artists program."
"That's wonderful, sweetheart. But you could do that with your own foundation. With real resources, real impact. You don't have to—" She gestured around. "Play poor to prove a point."
"I'm not playing at anything."
"Aren't you?" Victoria leaned forward. "Charlotte, I had lunch with Catherine Sterling yesterday. She told me about your fight with that artist. The one from the opening."
Charlotte's stomach dropped. "What did she tell you?"
"That he called you fake. That he can't accept where you came from." Victoria's voice was surprisingly gentle. "And Charlotte, I have to ask—why are you fighting so hard to be with someone who makes you feel guilty for being my daughter?"
"It's not like that."
"Isn't it? You left Thomas because he wanted you to be someone you're not. Now you're with someone who wants you to erase who you were. How is that different?"
Charlotte couldn't answer.
"Sweetheart," Victoria continued, "I know I pushed too hard. I know I tried to control your life. And I'm sorry for that. But I can't watch you shrink yourself for someone else again. Even if this time it's shrinking away from privilege instead of into it."
"I'm not shrinking."
"You're apologizing for knowing how to navigate a gallery opening. You're feeling guilty for skills you've had your whole life. That sounds like shrinking to me."
Charlotte felt tears threatening. "I don't know what to do."
"Come home. Not to your old life—I'm not asking you to marry Thomas or join charity boards. But come home with resources. Start your own foundation. Support artists the way you want to, but on your terms. With power, not as someone's assistant."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because—" Charlotte's voice broke. "Because if I do, Mateo wins. You win. Everyone who said I couldn't make it on my own wins."
"This isn't about winning, Charlotte. It's about being smart." Victoria stood up. "Think about it. Really think. Is proving a point worth being miserable?"
After her mother left, Charlotte sat in Lisa's office, completely undone.
Was she miserable?
She looked at her bank account on her phone: $2,847.
Rent was due in two weeks: $1,850.
That left $997. For food, utilities, gas, everything.
She had jewelry to sell. Maybe another month or two of runway.
And then what?
Ask her mother for help and admit defeat?
Find a roommate and stretch it further?
Get a second job?
All to prove what? That she could survive on $30,000 a year?
She thought about Maria, who made it work because she had no choice. Who lived with her mother, worked at the restaurant, painted whenever she could.
But Maria wasn't trying to prove anything. She was just living her life.
Was Charlotte trying to prove something? To her mother? To Mateo? To herself?
And if so—what exactly was she trying to prove?
Part 2: Tuesday Night — Maria's Perspective
Maria's POV — Rosa's Restaurant, Echo Park
Maria was wiping down tables at her mom's restaurant when Charlotte called.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Can I come see you?" Charlotte's voice sounded wrecked. "I need to talk."
"Of course. I'm at my mom's place until close at 9. Can you come here?"
Twenty minutes later, Charlotte walked into the small Mexican restaurant looking like she'd been crying.
Rosa immediately went into mom mode. "Mija, sit down. I'll bring you food."
"Mrs. Reyes, I'm not hungry—"
"You're sad. Sad people need to eat." Rosa disappeared into the kitchen.
Maria sat across from Charlotte. "What happened?"
Charlotte told her everything. The text from Mateo. Her mother showing up. The money running out. The question she couldn't answer.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Charlotte finished. "My mother thinks I'm playing at poverty. Mateo thinks I'm fake. And I'm starting to wonder if they're both right."
"Are you happy?" Maria asked.
"What?"
"Are you happy? Right now, in this life you're building. Not stressed, not struggling—happy."
Charlotte thought about it. "Sometimes. When I'm working with artists, when I'm planning shows, when I'm talking to you. But other times, I feel like I'm just barely surviving. Counting every dollar, worrying about rent, wondering how long I can keep this up."
"That's real, Charlotte. That's what it actually feels like to not have money. It's not romantic. It's stressful and exhausting and sometimes scary."
"I know."
"Do you though? Because there's a difference between choosing to live this way to prove a point, and living this way because you have no choice. I can't call my mom and ask for money to start a foundation. You can."
Charlotte looked at her. "You think I should take her up on it? Go back?"
"I think you should ask yourself why you're here. If it's because you genuinely want to build something from scratch, to understand the struggle, to earn everything yourself—that's one thing. But if it's just to prove you're not spoiled, to show your mom she was wrong, to make Mateo see you're not 'that girl'—that's different."
"How do I know which it is?"
"You already do. You just don't want to admit it."
Charlotte was quiet for a long time.
Rosa came back with a plate of enchiladas. "Eat. Then you'll think more clearly."
While Charlotte ate, Maria watched her. She liked Charlotte—genuinely liked her as a friend. But she also saw what Mateo saw: someone still figuring out who she was, caught between two worlds, trying to prove something to everyone including herself.
"Can I tell you what I think?" Maria said finally.
"Please."
"I think you're trying to erase your past instead of integrating it. You're acting like 'old Charlotte' was bad and 'new Charlotte' is good, and you can't be both. But Charlotte—you can use your privilege for good. You can network with rich collectors AND support struggling artists. You can have resources AND have integrity."
"Mateo doesn't see it that way."
"Mateo's scared. He sees you fit into a world he can't access and it makes him feel inferior. But that's his issue to work through, not yours to fix by making yourself smaller."
"But what if he's right? What if I am just slumming?"
"Are you?"
Charlotte thought about the gallery opening. About coordinating the show, about seeing artists connect with collectors, about Maria's mom's face when she understood her daughter was part of something real.
"No," she said quietly. "I'm not slumming. I'm building something. Using skills I have to create opportunities for people who need them."
"Then do that. Stop apologizing for it. Stop feeling guilty for knowing how to navigate these spaces. Own it."
"Even if it means Mateo and I don't work out?"
"Especially then. Because Charlotte, you can't build your life around making someone else comfortable with who you are."