It was almost anticlimactic.33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy8wK9PuegG
An envelope. A short meeting.33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJTRrQW6avL
A formal "we've observed your leadership," followed by, "you've been selected to step up as Vice President."
Samantha sat there frozen for three seconds longer than what was considered professional.
VP.
It wasn't just a title.33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL3PkArZ3O1
It was proof.33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqsmKviree5
That she'd survived. Grown. Risen.
Not in spite of being a mother, or betrayed, or judged—but because she never let those things stop her.
That evening, Ryan takes her to a quiet rooftop bar. No photographers. No colleagues. Just city lights and two glasses of wine.
"Still hasn't sunk in, huh?" he says, watching her stare at the skyline.
"Not yet," she admits. "It's like I've been climbing so long, I forgot I was supposed to reach something."
Ryan raises his glass. "To Samantha Magtalas. Vice President. Team backbone. Single mom. Woman who eats impossible things for breakfast."
She laughs. Clinks her glass with his. "You're not so bad at speeches when you're not being sarcastic."
He leans in, eyes softer than usual. "I meant every word."
A beat.
Then she whispers, "Why me?"
He doesn't hesitate.
"Because they finally saw what I've known all along."
She doesn't answer. Doesn't need to.
Because her hand is already in his.
33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrER6pwtp9Q
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