Isabella's POV
Three years. That's how long it had been since I held Peter in that quiet hospital room and whispered his name for the first time.
The first few months were the hardest. Peter barely slept. I barely ate. My body didn't feel like mine, and sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night crying without knowing why. But my mom was there — solid and unshakable, even when I wasn't. She taught me how to swaddle him, how to burp him, how to read the signs between his cries. And when I couldn't handle it, when I broke down in the bathroom and said I wasn't cut out for this, she held me like she used to when I was little.
"He doesn't need perfect," she'd say, brushing my hair back. "He just needs you. And you're enough."
She never asked about Daniel, or the life I had left behind. Maybe she was afraid I'd run if she pushed too hard. Maybe she just knew I needed time to rebuild myself.
And so the days passed.
Peter grew quickly, all cheeks and curls and questions. He was the reason I got out of bed, the reason I smiled, even when I didn't want to. We spent mornings at the park and afternoons in the library. My mom watched him when I worked small jobs here and there—waitressing, data entry, even a little babysitting. I never stayed too long in one place. It always felt like someone might recognize me, like the past was just one wrong step away from catching up.
I started to feel restless, like I'd outgrown the quiet rhythm of our days. Like there was something in me stretching, reaching, aching for more. Not more money, not even more freedom. Just… more of me. Whoever that was now.
Peter was almost three, full of energy and impossible questions. My mom, bless her, loved helping out. But I couldn't keep hiding behind her forever. I needed to work. Really work. Not just for the money—but to feel like I mattered again. Like I could build something of my own.
That's when I saw the posting.
I wasn't even actively looking. Just scrolling through job boards during one of Peter's naps when I saw it: Titan Weapons Co. – Architectural Intern, Remote Options Available. On Facebook.
But the position was junior. Perfect for someone looking to restart. The pay wasn't great, but it was something. And I had the qualifications—even if they were dusty and buried under three years of silence.
The idea scared me. Reaching out. Putting myself out there. Getting close to that world again.
But I applied anyway.
The application was short. A few questions. A resume I had to rewrite from scratch. A portfolio I barely had.
I pulled up my old laptop, the one with the cracked screen and the slow boot-up time, and started digging. Old sketches. Designs. Concept drafts I never submitted. They weren't perfect, but they showed who I had been—and maybe, who I could still be.
I stayed up all night putting the portfolio together. When I was done, I hovered over the 'Submit' button for a long time. Then, finally, I clicked.
And waited.
Days passed.
I told myself not to hope. That it was just practice. That they'd never hire someone with no recent experience, no connections, no name.
But then, an email came through.
Subject: Interview Invitation – Titan Weapons Co.
I froze.
My heart did this stupid, traitorous leap, and my stomach flipped. I stared at the screen for a full minute before I opened it.
A virtual interview. Thirty minutes. Nothing promised. But it was something.
I called in a favor with a neighbor to watch Peter. Pulled my best outfit from the back of the closet. Cleaned up my resume again. Practiced smiling in the mirror like I wasn't terrified.
The interview day arrived fast.
I logged in early, fingers shaking, trying to steady my breath. The call connected, and a man's face appeared—mid-forties, stern, calculating.
"Good afternoon, Isabella," the man said, his voice deep and authoritative. "I'm Mr. Rowe, and I'll be conducting your interview today."
I nodded, trying to shake off the nagging feeling at the back of my mind. This was my first real interview in years, and I needed to focus on the present. No looking back. Just keep moving forward.
"Thank you," I replied, my voice steady despite the slight nervousness I felt. "I'm excited to be here."
He began with the usual questions—my background, my work experience, and why I was interested in joining Titan Weapons Co. I told him everything I had practiced in front of the mirror, carefully leaving out the parts of my past that didn't fit the image I was trying to present. It had been years since I worked full-time, but my freelance projects and personal portfolio showed I still had the skills. I just needed this job—needed the stability.
Mr. Rowe asked insightful questions, clearly reviewing my design work carefully. His focus made me nervous, but in the best way. It felt like he was genuinely interested in what I could bring to the company. I was starting to feel a glimmer of hope.
When we wrapped up, he gave me a curt but polite nod. "Thank you for your time, Isabella. We'll be in touch soon."
I breathed a small sigh of relief, ready to shut the call down, when he paused, his brow furrowing slightly.
"You know," he began, his voice shifting just a little, "you look… familiar."
My stomach tightened. Did he know? Had I somehow given something away in the interview?
I forced a calm smile, even as my mind raced. "I get that a lot," I said, not wanting to give anything away. It was a practiced line.
There was a beat of silence, and for a moment, I swore he was studying me harder, like he was trying to place me. But then, he simply nodded and said, "Right. Well, thank you again. We'll be in touch."
The screen went dark, and I sat back, exhaling a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
He hadn't recognized me. Or if he did, he didn't show it. But something in his eyes… Something in his tone made me feel like he wasn't completely fooled. Maybe I had been a little too good at burying my past under layers of newness.
I pushed the thought aside for now. Focus, Isabella. One step at a time.