Better Off Alone

Chapter 8

(Rebecca's POV)

Monday morning. 8:02 AM.

I walk into Clark Industries for the last time and the security guard smiles at me.

"Morning, Rebecca."

"Morning, Tom."

He doesn't know I'm Sean's wife. Nobody in this building knows. To Tom, I'm Rebecca from the fourth floor. Secretary. Coffee maker. The quiet one who always holds the elevator.

I badge in and take the stairs. I always take the stairs. The elevator is for executives and people who matter. Sean told me that once. I never dared to try and find out if he was joking or if he was serious.

The fourth floor is already humming. Phones ringing. Keyboards clicking. Someone laughs from the break room. I walk past my desk — neat, organized, everything in its place — and head straight for Alexander's office.

His door is open. He's already in his chair, scrolling through emails, coffee in hand. He looks up when I knock on the frame.

"Rebecca. You're early."

"I need to talk to you.”

Something in my voice makes him set his coffee down. Alexander is good at reading people. It's why Sean hired him. He can tell the difference between I need to talk to you about the printer and I need to talk to you about a serious matter. He's hearing the second one right now.

"Come in. Close the door."

I close the door. I don't sit down. If I sit down, this becomes a conversation, and conversations have back-and-forth, and I'm not here for back-and-forth.

“Is Sean in?"

"No, he's—" Alexander glances at the closed office door behind him. "He took a personal day. He's out with—" He catches himself. "He's out."

With Hannah. He doesn't have to say it. I can fill in that blank in my sleep.

"Good," I say. "That makes this easier. I'm resigning."

Alexander blinks. Once. Twice. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. In four years of working together, I have never seen Alexander lost for words. The man has a response for everything—natural disasters, hostile takeovers, the time a client's dog urinated on the boardroom carpet. But right now he's staring at me like I just told him the building was on fire and I'm the one who lit the match.

Then he leans back in his chair and folds his hands the way he does when he's about to say something careful.

"Rebecca, sit down."

"I don't need to sit down. I'm resigning. I'll work the rest of this week if you need me to, but I want to be gone by Thursday."

"Rebecca—"

"Three days. That should be enough time to find a replacement."

Alexander stares at me. Not through me — Sean does that. Alexander actually stares at me, the way you stare at someone who just said something you can't fit into the shape of the world you know.

"You're serious," he says.

"Yes."

"You want to leave."

"Yes."

He exhales through his nose. Long, slow, like he's deflating. Then he stands up, walks around his desk, and leans against the front of it, arms crossed. This is Alexander in problem-solving mode. I've seen him do this a hundred times — with suppliers, with board members, with Sean when Sean is being impossible.

"Rebecca, do you know how hard you worked to get this position?"

I know. I know exactly how hard.

"I spent three months as a temp on the second floor before anyone even noticed I existed," I say. "I reorganized the entire filing system on weekends because it needed doing. I learned Sean's coffee order — two shots, no sugar, a quarter-inch of oat milk — by watching the barista at the café downstairs and practicing at home until I got the ratio right. I memorized his meeting schedule. I learned which documents he likes printed double-sided and which ones he wants single. I figured out that he needs the overhead lights two levels brighter after 3 PM because his eyes get tired."

Alexander is quiet.

"I know how hard I worked," I say. "I was there."

"That's my point." He unfolds his arms. "You worked hard to get here. You earned your spot. Sean only drinks the coffee you make. He only uses the documents you prepare. Last month he sent back three reports because they weren't formatted the way you do it. The temp almost cried."

A small, bitter thing curls in my chest. He only drinks my coffee. He only uses my documents. He needs the lights the way I set them. Six years of marriage and the only version of me Sean values is the one that serves him from across a desk.

"That's not a reason to stay, Alexander. That's the reason I'm leaving."

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

"Did something happen?"

Everything happened. Nothing happened. The same nothing that's been happening for six years finally reached its full shape and I looked at it and saw what it was.

"No," I say. "Nothing happened."

He doesn't believe me. I can see it in his face. But Alexander is careful. He's been trained to be careful — by Sean, by the job, by the invisible rules of this building where everyone knows their place and nobody steps out of line.

"Does Sean know?"

Alexander's voice is gentle when he says Sean's name, the way people get gentle around things they think might hurt you. He knows. Not everything, but enough. He was there when we got our marriage license. Also that day I started at the company, when Sean called him into his office and gave him the instructions.

I remember that day like a bruise.

Sean sat behind his desk with his jaw tight, not looking at me, not looking at Alexander, looking at the wall like the wall had done something wrong. I stood in the doorway in my new blouse, the one I'd bought specifically for my first day, the one I'd ironed twice because I wanted to look presentable.

"Rebecca will be working as my assistant," Sean said. "She is to be treated like any other employee. No special treatment. No reporting to me about her activities unless there are special circumstances. And Alexander—" He paused. "No one in this company is to know she's my wife. Is that clear?"

Alexander said, "Yes, sir."

I stood in the doorway and I heard my husband tell his assistant to hide me. Not protect me. Not support me. Hide me. Like I was something embarrassing. Something that needed to be kept out of sight so the rest of his life could run smooth.

And I stayed. I heard that, and I stayed, because I thought if I worked hard enough, if I proved I could stand beside him on merit, he'd eventually see me. He'd turn around one day and realize I wasn't just his secretary. I was his wife. I was the mother of his child. I was the woman who still loved him even when he made it impossible.

He never turned around.