Chapter 12 - Returning to Rome
The rooftop looked smaller.
That surprised Anna.
Pain had made it enormous in memory.
The railing.
The chandeliers.
The long tables.
The sunset.
Paolo hugged her.
“Signora Caldwell.”
“Anna.”
“Anna.”
Sean shook his hand.
Paolo smiled. “I remember you.”
Sean winced.
“I deserve that.”
Thirteen guests attended.
But they were not Caldwells.
Claire.
Julia.
Business partners.
Paolo’s family.
Sean.
Anna.
Grace remained in London with Eleanor, who had proudly volunteered to babysit under written instructions that Melissa jokingly called “the Geneva Convention.”
Dinner was beautiful.
At sunset, Paolo announced that the restaurant’s new private terrace would be dedicated to “people who understand hospitality means making room.”
Anna looked sharply at Sean.
He raised both hands.
“Not me.”
Paolo laughed.
“No. Me.”
The plaque did not use Anna’s name.
Good.
Instead it read:
THERE IS ALWAYS ROOM.
Anna cried anyway.
Later, she stood at the railing.
Sean joined her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Regret coming?”
“No.”
He waited.
Anna looked at the exact spot where she had stood in the pale-blue dress.
“I used to replay that night.”
“I know.”
“I kept imagining different versions.”
“What would you change?”
She thought.
“Nothing.”
Sean looked surprised.
“Really?”
“If you gave me your chair, I might have stayed.”
His face tightened.
“That sounds terrible.”
“It isn’t.”
She turned.
“That night hurt because it showed me something I needed to see.”
Sean looked down.
“I still wish I hadn’t done it.”
“You should.”
He almost smiled.
“But I don’t wish I hadn’t learned from it.”
“That’s annoyingly healthy.”
“Caleb—”
“Who?”
“Sorry. Wrong story.”
Anna laughed so hard people turned.
Sean stared at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
They walked back to the table.
Thirteen chairs.
All occupied.
Paolo brought dessert.
Then Anna’s phone rang.
Eleanor.
“Grace refuses to sleep.”
Anna smiled.
“Did you read her book?”
“Three times.”
“Blue blanket?”
“Yes.”
“Rabbit?”
“Yes.”
“Did you sing?”
Silence.
Anna grinned.
“Eleanor?”
“I do not sing.”
“Then you don’t want her to sleep badly enough.”
Sean laughed.
Eleanor sighed.
Five minutes later, a video arrived.
Eleanor Caldwell.
Seventy-five.
Pearls.
Singing badly to a toddler.
Anna cried laughing.
Sean whispered, “Never show Melissa.”
Anna immediately forwarded it to Melissa.
Family chat exploded.
For once, everyone laughed together.
Not at someone’s humiliation.
With one another.
That distinction mattered.
Back in London, Anna and Sean’s life settled into something she once would have called boring.
Breakfast.
Nursery.
Deadlines.
Laundry.
Couples therapy every other month even when nothing was wrong.
Anna had once believed stable love would feel constantly romantic.
It didn’t.
It felt like being able to tell the truth without calculating the cost.
Then Claire approached Anna with an offer.
North Star had received acquisition interest from a major luxury group.
Anna’s shares could make her independently wealthy.
Sean congratulated her.
Then asked, “What do you want?”
Anna stared.
Years earlier, he would have told her whether selling made sense.
Now he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
She laughed.
“That’s it?”
“What else?”
“I expected spreadsheet Sean.”
“He’s in remission.”
Anna eventually declined the acquisition.
Instead, she bought Claire’s remaining stake when Claire decided to retire.
At forty-three, Anna became CEO.
She changed the company’s mission slightly.
North Star began offering paid internships to women re-entering the workforce after caregiving gaps.
The first cohort included twelve women.
Anna added a thirteenth.
Claire noticed.
“Symbolic?”
“Obviously.”
“What if there were fourteen good candidates?”
Anna smiled.
“Then fourteen.”
That was the lesson.
May you like
Not fetishizing numbers.
Making room when room was needed.
