Cold.
Clear.
At peace.
I reached into my bag, pulled out my phone, and typed a three-word message.
“Activate Protocol 7.”
Ten minutes later, the same people who had just laughed at me would be begging me to stop.
“Oops,” Diane said with a half-smile, not pretending for a second that she was sorry. The shock of the near-freezing water caused my baby to kick hard inside me.
“Try to see the positive,” she added, raising her glass. “Now you actually look presentable.”
Brendan let out a burst of laughter.
Jessica looked at my soaked shoes and said in a light voice: “Someone bring her an old towel. We don’t want that smell on the expensive linen.”
The water dripped onto the Persian rug.
The same rug I had approved three years ago in the renovation budget for the corporate headquarters.
I took a deep breath.
Not for them.
For my daughter.
Jessica laughed again.
