Marcel

The room buzzes with the low hum of conversation, the kind that fills the air before a big moment.

I sit in the third row, folder balanced on my lap, trying not to let my mind wander. The final presentation is in less than an hour.

After months of strategizing, pitches, and late nights, the MedVax account is almost sealed.

This deal will cement Voxel's position as a major player. It's everything I've been working for.

And yet, all I can think about is how cold the leather felt against my back when my mom gave me her version of tough love a few days ago.

"Love is a distraction, Marcelina. A weakness."

She had said it while sitting at the head of the long glass dining table, where every word she spoke seemed to echo.

Her manicured hand curled around her coffee cup like she was making a point she'd made a thousand times before-and she probably had.

"If you want to lead, you don't fall apart for someone who can't even keep their own life together."

I nodded because it was easier than fighting. Because she was right.

Maybe Lori was a mistake.

The thought still stings, but I've gotten better at pretending it doesn't hurt. I've had practice.

Two weeks of practice, to be exact. Two weeks of burying it, of putting on my game face and telling myself that this is what matters: the company.

My future.

Not some complicated, messy relationship with someone who never understood the weight of what I carry.

I take a deep breath and glance at the folder in my lap. It's crisp and immaculate, just like the presentation I've rehearsed a dozen times in my head. I've got this.

I have to.

***

The breakup with Lori was necessary, I remind myself.

The days after were hard-too hard. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. Everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers, and for what? A person who didn't know how to let go of her past? Who couldn't meet me where I needed her?

That's why I drove to my mother's house last weekend. It wasn't a planned visit, but something about the quiet desperation in my head made me reach for her brand of clarity.

She greeted me with a stiff hug and a once-over that made me feel like I was seventeen again, standing in front of her after a bad volleyball match.

"You look tired," she said, which was her way of saying, You're not doing enough to take care of yourself.

"I've been busy," I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Busy with work or busy with... other things?"

Her tone was pointed, and I knew what she was getting at. My mother never approved of Lori-not that she ever said it outright. She didn't have to.

The arched eyebrow, the sharp questions about Lori, the way she changed the subject every time I brought her up-all of it spoke volumes.

"Work," I said, cutting off the conversation before it could start. "MedVax is wrapping up soon."

She nodded, clearly satisfied. "Good. That's where your focus should be. You've worked too hard to let anything get in the way now."

We spent the rest of the weekend like that-her doling out advice and veiled criticism, me nodding and pretending it didn't bother me.

She made her feelings about love crystal clear: it's a luxury, not a necessity.

And definitely not something you let derail your ambitions.

Now, sitting here, I can almost hear her voice in my head. The company is in your hands, Marcelina. Don't let anyone make you forget that.

I won't.

I stand, smoothing the front of my blazer, and make my way to the stage where the MedVax executives are gathering.

I shake hands, exchange pleasantries, and let the mask slip firmly into place. Professional. Composed. Untouchable.

This is who I need to be.

The presentation goes off without a hitch. The slides are clean and impactful, the data airtight. I speak with the kind of confidence that makes people listen, and when I glance at the faces in the audience, I can see that they're hooked.

This is what I'm good at-convincing people, winning them over, making them believe in me.

By the time the Q&A session rolls around, I know we've won. The MedVax reps are all smiles, nodding along as I answer their questions with ease.

When it's over, they stand to applaud, and my chest swells with a mixture of pride and relief.

I did it.

As the crowd begins to disperse, I linger on the stage, watching as my team congratulates each other.

Nadine, approaches with a grin that stretches from ear to ear. "You crushed it, Marcel," she says, handing me a bottle of water.

"Thanks," I reply, taking a sip. My voice is steady, my smile practiced.

"Seriously," she continues, "this is going to put Voxel on the map in ways we haven't seen before. You should be proud."

"I am."

And I am. I really am.

But as I watch the room empty out, a strange hollowness settles in my chest. This is what I've been working toward-what I've sacrificed for. So why does it feel like something's missing?

Of course I know who is missing. She was supposed to be here, next to me, celebrating this victory.

But by gones are by gones right? If she's not here then she doesn't deserve to be.

I shake the thought away and turn back to Nadine. "Make sure the team knows I'll treat them to dinner next week. They deserve it."

"Got it," she says, giving me a thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd.

I gather my things, preparing to leave, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. For a split second, I let myself hope.

But it's not her.

Of course, it's not, she's totally over me. She wasn't even into me to start with.

It' Mom, her name flashing across the screen like a reminder.

I let it go to voicemail.

The drive home is quiet. By the time I pull into my driveway, exhaustion has settled deep in my bones. I step inside, kick off my heels, and collapse onto the couch.

The silence of my apartment feels heavier than usual. I turn on a lamp and glance around, my eyes landing on the framed photos lining the bookshelf.

Most of them are of my family-me with my mom and dad at various milestones-but there's one that catches my eye.

It's from a few months ago, taken at a team event. Lori is in it, standing next to me with her arm slung casually over my shoulder. We're both smiling, the kind of genuine, unguarded smiles that feel foreign now.

I pick up the frame, my fingers tracing the edges.

I told myself I was ready to turn the page, to move on, but staring at this photo now, it feels like I'm still stuck in the same place.

My mom's words echo in my mind:

"If you want to lead, you don't fall apart for someone who can't even keep their own life together."

Maybe she's right.

But maybe she's not.

I set the photo back on the shelf.
I don't know what's next. I don't know if I'll ever find a way to make peace with what happened or if Lori and I will ever speak again.

But for now, all I can do is focus on what I know: the MedVax deal is done, the company is thriving, and I'm still standing.

That's enough for now.