A Taste of Awakening

Growing up under her mother's influence, Clara had always nurtured a fierce love for jewelry design, hoping to carry that artistic legacy forward. Right out of university, she had teamed up with a close college friend to launch their own design studio from the ground up.

What began as a modest venture quickly gained momentum through sheer grit and late nights. Yet right as the firm was gearing up for its initial public offering, Clara walked away, trading her drafting table for a life centered entirely around her new family.

Her abrupt exit threw the business into chaos, forcing them to scrap multiple contracts tied directly to her personal designs. The resulting penalty fees nearly tanked the IPO altogether.

The people who had fought alongside her were left bitter and let down. Though her name remained on the cap table as a shareholder, her former partners essentially cut her off after that day.

For years, her only tie to the business had been the regular dividend payouts hitting her bank account. She was kept completely out of the loop on daily operations, while her once-razor-sharp instincts at the drawing board dulled to an almost embarrassing degree.

*If I step back into that world now, what value do I even bring to the table?* A quiet wave of self-doubt crept in as she stared at her desk.

That annual showcase always drew the freshest concepts of the season, backed by seasoned designers with impressive track records and active industry clout.

*I've been out of the game for far too long. Walking that floor is my best shot at bridging the gap. I can't afford to miss it,* she resolved.

A sharp chime from her phone broke the silence, making her jump slightly. Glancing down at the lit screen, she saw her daily alarm signaling it was time to start dinner. Much like Clara herself, Hazel had a natural fondness for spicy dishes, though Clara rarely let her indulge out of concern for the little girl's delicate digestion.

Desmond suffered from a sensitive stomach as well, made worse by the endless string of client dinners his position demanded.

On days when neither father nor daughter came home at noon, Clara would just throw together whatever was easiest for herself. Morning and evening, however, she stood at the stove without fail, crafting balanced, soothing meals from scratch.

In the early years of her marriage, she had craved heat and spice, too. Eventually, she had simply conditioned herself to go without.

Yet only a few days prior, she had caught Hazel whining in the living room, "Mom's food has zero flavor. It's boring to eat. The spicy buffalo wings Ms. Monroe gets are ten times better."

Clara actually loved spicy buffalo wings just as much, even if she hadn't touched a single one in nearly a decade.

Reaching down, she swiped the alert away, went into her clock app to wipe every last meal schedule from her phone, and placed a delivery order for extra-spicy curry pasta. When it arrived, she ate the whole container with her nose running and hot tears blurring her vision, relishing the burn of every forkful.

*****

Later that evening, Desmond brought Hazel back to the house. The little girl trudged in with her lower lip jutting out in a heavy pout. "How come we had to leave before the light show ended? It was just getting to the best part."

"Your mother is still healing from her injuries," Desmond said in a measured, patient tone. "As soon as she's back on her feet, I'll take you again so we can watch the whole thing from start to finish."

Hazel's brow creased with worry. "What if Mom asks to tag along with us?"

*Whenever Mom comes around, the whole mood gets weird,* Hazel thought to herself. *She looks miserable, Ms. Monroe gets upset, and nobody has any fun at all.*

*Why can't our house work like those shows on television? If Dad could marry Ms. Monroe too, we could all just live under the same roof. Having Dad, Mom, and Ms. Monroe together would make everything great.*

"She won't," Desmond assured her evenly. Throughout their marriage, Clara had never once pushed back against his rules, not even when he demanded they keep their union completely out of the public eye.

Aside from sitting together at occasional family meals, she would walk right past him like a total stranger if they ever bumped into each other outside. *A public light show isn't a family gathering. She understands the boundaries,* he thought with absolute certainty.

"Fine," Hazel muttered without much enthusiasm, trailing him through the front entrance. *Besides, my mouth is kind of tired from eating all those spicy snacks over the past couple of days. Some of Mom's warm oatmeal sounds really good right now. Martha's batch last night was okay, I guess, but compared to the way Mom makes it, it barely even counts as real food.*

Making up her mind to demand a bowl right away, Hazel called out into the foyer, "Mom, make me—" The words died on her tongue when she saw the empty hallway instead of her mother waiting by the door to take their coats.

Desmond paused as well, his gaze shifting toward the kitchen just as Martha came hurrying out into the hall. Behind the housekeeper, the kitchen sat dark and quiet. "Where is Clara?" he asked.

"Mr. Mercer, Ma'am mentioned earlier that she took on a new job and won't be coming home for the next several days," Martha answered respectfully. Hearing that, Desmond inwardly scoffed at the idea that a woman who had stayed home for years could actually hold down a real position anywhere.

Hazel's expression soured at once. "So nobody's going to cook my oatmeal now?" *Martha's recipe doesn't come close. Why is Mom out looking for work anyway when Dad gives her plenty of spending money? She never appreciates anything!*

Desmond brushed the matter aside within seconds. *She probably just grew restless sitting around the house and wanted a distraction.* With a full staff keeping the estate running smoothly, whether Clara stayed under this roof, played at having a career, or walked out made zero impact on his daily routine.

Standing by the entryway as father and daughter swapped their outdoor shoes for slippers, Martha hesitated for a beat before holding out the velvet box left in her care. "Mr. Mercer, Ma'am handed this over to me right before she walked out the door."

*She treasured this piece more than anything else in her collection and always talked about how much it meant to her,* Martha reflected with a heavy ache in her chest. *Back when I helped her repair the clasp, she was so relieved she handed me a full month's bonus on top of a pile of presents. Giving it away to me like this means she really isn't looking back.*

"Dad, look! Mom's blowing money on random stuff again!" Hazel piped up sharply. Martha froze, staring at the child in disbelief over such an accusation. She parted her lips to set the record straight, only for Desmond to cut her off with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"Keep it if she gave it to you," Desmond said without a second glance. "She's likely just bored with the design after having it for so long. Whenever something new catches her eye, she can easily buy a replacement. Let's head to the dining room."

"Sir, you don't understand, this piece is—" The shrill ring of Desmond's cell phone drowned out Martha's protest. *There isn't a second one like it on the market because Ma'am drafted and crafted it with her own hands,* the housekeeper finished inside her own head.

"Chloe," Desmond greeted, lifting the phone to his ear.

At the sound of that name, Hazel's face brightened right up, and she yanked hard on her father's sleeve until he leaned down toward her. Listening to the voice on the other end, Desmond relayed, "Ms. Monroe recorded the rest of the light show specifically for you, and she picked up a box of those spicy buffalo wings you like. You can have them next time we meet up with her."

"Can't we just go over there right now?" Hazel begged, bouncing on her heels and shaking his arm. "Come on, Dad! Mom isn't even in the house tonight. If we turn around and drive back now, we'll still catch the end of the lights!"

Faced with his daughter's eager whining and the upbeat chatter of the woman on the line, Desmond's resolve folded almost immediately. "All right, we'll head back out." Bending down, he lifted Hazel into his arms and strode straight back toward the front door.

Left alone in the grand foyer, Martha stood rooted to the floor as their footsteps retreated into the night. She started to call after them, yet the futility of it caught in her throat. Lowering her eyes to the small box in her palms, she let the silence of the empty mansion swallow her words as the heavy entrance door clicked shut.

*****

Miles away from the mansion and oblivious to the housekeeper's grief, Clara remained hunched over her drafting easel from dusk until dawn, refining line after line until a finished rendering finally met her old standards.

Pausing only briefly with her finger hovering over the mouse, she uploaded the digital file and sent it straight to Aurelia Group—the very firm she had built from scratch years ago, where her name had once meant everything.