Eighteen months later
I re-read Sammy’s text for the tenth time after I park next to his toy car.
Meet me in our spot after work. XO.
I jump out of my truck. I was delayed at the office and didn’t have time to go home and change. So, here I am, in my fancy pinstriped suit and polished shoes far more suitable for the boardroom than a walk through the woods.
I pull off my tie, roll it up, and stuff it in my pocket. Then I shrug off my suit coat and throw it in the back seat. With a press to the key fob, my baby is locked, and I head down the narrow footpath.
Descending carefully—so I won’t slip on the yellow leaves covering the ground and fall on my ass—I roll up my sleeves. After I open the two top buttons on my lavender shirt, I can finally breathe again. I love my job as a CFO; it’s
