Page 13 of Break Me Not

She tilted her head to the side, an almost cutesy look of concern crossing her face.

“Everything? Even your lunch with⁠—”

“Everything.” There was a finality in my tone that gave her no room to argue. “Milo is also coming in later. Call them and have them come a bit early to help out, okay?”

She nodded, and I left the room still trying to collect myself.

I jumped as food was dropped unceremoniously on my desk.

Looking up, I saw brown eyes so similar to mine, looking down at me. My daughter Claire stood before me with her hair up in a high ponytail. Her ears glittered with multiple piercings. New ones. She got the strawberry blonde hair, cheekbones, and lips from her father, but the rest of her was an almost exact copy of me.

She was always cute, but as she grew up, I saw her baby face turn into a more mature version that reminded me a little too much of myself.

Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her lips were pulled into a tight line.

“Lunch,” I breathed and pushed away my computer. “I'm so sorry, sweetie. Today's been so crazy. We had a⁠—”

“Something that took you away from our lunch, again?”

I shook my head and motioned for her to sit down.

It was a common occurrence for us to sit in my office and have lunch together. Sometimes I was able to leave and take her to an actual restaurant, but more often than not, I found myself busy in my office.

I’d been lucky that Claire decided to stay in New York City for her job. A selfish part of me wanted her close, though I knew she'd likely be safer if she went far away and stayed away from her father’s reach. I was the one who insisted on weekly lunches, but I was also the one who always found herself forgetting.

I kicked myself mentally.

I opened up the bag with an excited gasp. “Burrito, coffee, and cake for dessert? Whatever did I do to deserve this?”

She sat down without a word. There was something bothering her, I could tell. She would do this when she was younger too—hide herself a little bit. Her silence was another indication that something was wrong, along with the way her eyebrows pushed together and the tension radiating from her.

“Or maybe you did something to deserve this?” I asked, leaning forward and trying to lock eyes with her. “Are we celebrating something?”

She looked down at her lap before straightening her back.

“I’ve been promoted.”

I reached forward and grabbed her hand. “That's great! Why aren't you excited? Is it that head designer role you were aiming for?”

She slowly pulled her hand from mine.

“I’ve been promoted to product manager. I’ll be staying in New York for a bit, but there may be a time when I have to relocate to Seattle.”

My heart dropped to my stomach.

It wasn't just that she was relocating. It was…

“Weren't you… working in the design team?” I asked, confusion filling me.

My daughter had always been a creative, and after I was forced to quit my dreams, I made sure she was able to follow hers. I supported her wholeheartedly all throughout high school and college when she wanted to go for the arts as opposed to science or engineering.

When she told me she got a design job in a tech company, I was more than ecstatic for her. But now I was just confused.

And Seattle… It was so far away. My chest ached.

She grabbed the coffee and stabbed a straw through the top.

“I… never worked in the design team,” she said, and then looked me straight in the face, watching me as she took a sip of her coffee.