By noon, I had stopped pretending I was going to spend the day figuring out my career.
Claire made lunch for all four of us.
Normally, on a workday, I would have eaten something quickly while answering emails. That day I sat at the table. I listened to Lily explain a book she had been reading and watched Cora arrange pieces of food on her plate according to some private system only she understood.
I kept thinking how strange it was to be there.
A few hours earlier, I had been preparing to present a multimillion-dollar account.
Now I was unemployed.
At twelve-thirty, I drove back to Calloway to collect the rest of my belongings.
The office had its usual midday noise. Phones rang. Someone laughed near the break room. The coffee machine hissed. The ordinary rhythm of the place continued as if nothing had happened.
That almost made it worse.
People who had worked beside me for years suddenly became very interested in their screens. A few gave me sympathetic looks. Nobody wanted to be seen taking sides.
I understood.
Fear was contagious in offices like that.
I was placing a folder into the box when Greg appeared.
He pulled the chair from across my desk and sat down.
“Sebastian.”
“Greg.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“I owe you an apology.”
I stopped packing.
“For what?”
“For the meeting this morning.”
I knew what he meant.
“You don't have to explain.”
“Yes, I do.”
He looked toward the hallway.
“I should have said something.”
“About what?”
“That you did the right thing.”
I closed the box.
“Greg, you have a family. I understand why you stayed quiet.”
“That doesn't make it right.”
“No.”
He looked tired.
“I've worked for Nick for eleven years.”
“I know.”
“I've told myself for a long time that staying was practical.”
“What changed?”
He looked at me.
“Today.”
I waited.
“I realized practical has a price.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“I know people in this industry.”
“Greg—”
“Let me make some calls.”
“You don't owe me that.”
“I know.”
He leaned forward.
“That's exactly why I'm offering.”
I didn't answer.
He continued.
“You stopped for a stranger when you had everything to lose. I'm not going to sit here and act like that means nothing.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe it means something to me.”
“It should mean something to the industry too.”
He wrote his personal number on a piece of paper.
“Give me a few days.”
I folded the paper and put it in my wallet.
“Thank you.”
He stood.
Then he hesitated.
“Do you know if the woman survived?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“I hope she did.”
“So do I.”
Greg walked away.
I finished packing.
The box was heavier than it should have been.
Maybe because it contained three years.
Maybe because it contained the version of myself that had believed the job would still be there when I got home that night.
I carried it to my car.
I was about to start the engine when my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Normally, I would have let it go to voicemail.
That day, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Is this Sebastian Reyes?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Thomas Marsh.”
I sat up.
“My mother is Eleanor Marsh.”
I looked at the box in the passenger seat.
“Yes.”
“I got your number from the hospital.”
“How is she?”
“She’s stable.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief came so quickly that I felt it in my chest.
“That’s good.”
“It is.”
There was a pause.
“My mother told me what happened.”
I didn't know what to say.
“She said you stayed with her until the ambulance came.”
“I wasn't going to leave her alone.”
“She remembers you holding her hand.”
I looked through the windshield.
“I just wanted her to know someone was there.”
Thomas was quiet.
“The paramedic told us something else.”
“What?”
“If you hadn't stopped when you did, things could have gone very differently.”
I swallowed.
“I’m glad she’s okay.”
“She wants to meet you.”
“I'd like that.”
Thomas laughed softly.
“She won't take no for an answer.”
That made me smile for the first time that day.
“She sounds determined.”
“She is.”
Then his voice changed.
“I understand you were on your way to an important meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And because you stopped for my mother, you missed it.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
I hesitated.
“I was fired.”
Thomas went silent.
“Because you stopped?”
“Yes.”
“For my mother?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Who fired you?”
I almost didn't answer.
There was something uncomfortable about giving a stranger that information.
“Nick Calloway.”
“Calloway Creative?”
“Yes.”
“And the pitch was for a pharmaceutical company?”
“Yes.”
“What company?”
I gave him the name.
Silence.
Longer this time.
“Thomas?”
“I’m here.”
His voice had become very careful.
“I work in healthcare investment.”
I sat straighter.
“What does that have to do with this?”
“I know their board.”
I said nothing.
“I know Martin Ellery.”
The name meant something to me immediately.
Martin Ellery was one of the people involved in deciding which agency would receive the account.
Thomas continued.
“He has been involved in the agency selection process.”
“I know.”
“I think you should know something.”
“What?”
“He's going to hear what happened.”
I looked at the parking lot around me.
“Thomas, I don't want you getting involved because you feel grateful.”
“I understand.”
“I stopped because your mother needed help. Not because I expected anything.”
“I know.”
“I don't want anyone trying to rescue my career.”
“I’m not trying to rescue you.”
“You're talking about calling someone who can influence a multimillion-dollar contract.”
“Yes.”
“That's exactly what I'm talking about.”
He exhaled.
“Sebastian, listen to me.”
I waited.
“Martin Ellery isn't the kind of person who needs me to tell him what to think.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means when he hears that the agency he was considering fired the person who stopped to save someone, he's going to make his own judgment.”
I said nothing.
Thomas continued.
“I want to call him.”
I looked at my hands.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
“And if you do, it might not change anything.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why?”
“Because my mother is alive.”
His voice tightened.
“And because she told me what you did.”
I looked down.
“She said you stayed beside her. She said you kept talking to her. She said you held her hand.”
“I did.”
“She said you almost drove away.”
I didn't respond.
“She remembers that part too.”
I stared at the steering wheel.
“I almost did.”
“Why did you turn around?”
I thought about that question.
“I don't know.”
Thomas waited.
Finally I said, “Actually, I do. I saw her again in the mirror and realized I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen her.”
He was quiet.
Then he said, “That's enough for me.”
“Thomas—”
“Can I make the call?”
I looked at the box in the passenger seat.
I thought about Claire telling me the truth mattered even if the outcome didn't.
I thought about Nick telling me to keep driving.
“Yes.”
Thomas sounded relieved.
“I'll call him.”
He paused.
“And Sebastian?”
“Yes?”
“My mother wants to thank you herself.”
“I'd like to meet her.”
“She'll like that.”
We ended the call.
I sat in the car for several minutes.
Nothing had been fixed.
I was still unemployed.
The mortgage still existed.
Cora's medical expenses had not disappeared.
But something had shifted.
I drove home and told Claire.
She listened carefully.
When I finished, she repeated the name.
“Martin Ellery?”
“That's what he said.”
“And Thomas knows him?”
“Apparently.”
She leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Do you think this will work?”
“I don't know.”
“Good.”
I looked at her.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
She smiled slightly.
“Because if you start believing it has to work, you'll turn what you did into a transaction.”
I understood what she meant.
“I didn't stop for any of this.”
“I know.”
“That matters.”
“It matters most.”
That evening, after the girls were asleep, we sat at the kitchen table.
Claire opened a notebook.
“We still need a financial plan.”
“I know.”
“So we make one.”
We listed expenses.
Mortgage.
Utilities.
Cora's treatment.
School.
Insurance.
Everything looked frightening in writing.
But at least numbers could be faced.
People were harder.
When we finished, Claire closed the notebook.
“Whatever happens with Thomas, you keep looking.”
“I will.”
“And whatever happens with Martin Ellery, remember something.”
“What?”
“You already know who you are.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“You don't need a new job to prove it.”
Three days passed.
Greg called once.
He had contacted two former colleagues and sent my résumé to someone at another agency.
Thomas did not call.
I tried not to think about it.
Then, on the third afternoon, my phone rang.
It was Thomas.
“Sebastian.”
“Yes?”
“Martin heard the story.”
I stood up from the kitchen table.
“And?”
“He wants to meet you.”
“With Calloway?”
“No.”
I waited.
“With you.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What kind of meeting?”
“The kind that could change what happens next.”
Click Here to continue read next: PART3: The Opportunity Was No Longer About Getting My Old Job Back, but I Was Afraid That Wanting It Would Make the Original Choice Mean Less
I Left Home Before Sunrise for the Most Important Presentation of My Career, Then One Glimpse on the Highway Forced Me to Choose
Part 2 of 8
