Yet . . . her business. What would she do with her life? She didn’t relax well. Especially . . . well, what was she supposed to do? Retire at forty-five?
“Why now, Marc? We’re introducing our biggest product in a year and you want to talk about our relationship?”
“Yeah, my timing sucks, I get that.”
“I don’t want to sell, Marc. I need something to do with my life, and you know it. You don’t love me as I am, you love me as you want me to be.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Because if you took me as I was, you’d accept me as a workaholic. You’d see that I love this company because I don’t have kids to love. I don’t have . . .”
Tears burned.
“Oh, baby, I love you so much. If you don’t want to sell, we don’t sell. But we have to make this work. We have to because I love you so much—and I know why you work eighty hours a week.”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”
She didn’t want to think about her five miscarriages. Five. Five over eight years. They nearly killed her. Physically, emotionally, and yeah, she put everything into this business. Everything because this was something she could control. The more she worked, the better they did. Every product was like a child to her, her creation, and they didn’t die.
The last time was the worst. Her baby survived . . . for sixty-three minutes. One hour of bittersweet heaven. And then she died in Ellen’s arms. They called her Em because they didn’t have a name picked out. No name because Ellen hadn’t wanted to jinx anything.
After that, yes, she pushed Marc away. Because after Em, the doctor took her uterus, too. So even if she wanted to try again, she couldn’t. Ever.
It wasn’t Marc’s fault . . . it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Except her. She couldn’t carry a baby to term. She hadn’t even wanted kids until she found out she was pregnant that first time. And the first miscarriage? It hurt . . . but that was when she realized she wanted a child, that she would make a great mother, that Marc would make a great father, so she was happy to try again.
Until.
Again. Again. Again.
Death. Nothing. Emptiness.
“I fucked up, Ellie,” Marc said. “I fucked up big time and I don’t blame you if you never forgive me. But I miss you, I love you, there will never be anyone for me except you. And I want us to make it work. Screw marriage. I just want you back in my life—and if I have to watch you kill yourself working eighty hours a week, so be it. I’ll do that. Because my life sucks without you.”
Ellen didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t think. This was coming out of nowhere. She didn’t doubt that Marc believed every word he said, but for how long?
She’d been an emotional basket case after losing Em. She needed the company. And . . . fuck.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“I don’t know that I can fix this. I can’t let go . . .” She didn’t know if she was talking about her company or her grief.
Grief. Could she really have been grieving for the last five years?
“The biggest mistake I made was not seeing your pain, not knowing that letting you go was the worst thing for both of us,” Marc said. “We’ll find a way. Please.”
She didn’t know. “I need to do this test.”
“Okay, let’s get it done. What do you need from me?”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“I can help.”
“I know, but—give me some space, please?”
He took the two steps toward her, looked in her eyes. She had loved Marc from the minute she’d met him, the day after she got her final discharge papers and they sat next to each other in a computer science class at Sac State. He was five years younger, so handsome, so funny and fun-loving. She was arrogant and jaded. He’d smiled at her and said, “Do you like ice cream?”
It had been unexpected and she said, “Yeah. I do.”
“My treat, after class.”
And that was it.
Until it was over.
It’s never been over.
“I love you, Ellen, now and forever.”
He leaned over and kissed her.
Slow, warm, reminding her of everything they had, everything they could still have, if she could get out of this funk, this grief, this pain . . .
“We’ll talk later,” he said.
She watched him wait for something, and she wasn’t sure what.
Then he turned away.
“Marc.”
He looked back at her.
I love you.
She couldn’t say it, even though she knew it was true.
“Tomorrow, breakfast. Our place.”
He smiled, and his eyes teared up. Our place wasn’t their house—they’d sold it after the divorce, too many painful memories including a nursery that had never been used. But one of their favorite places was a small diner not far away, open only for lunch and breakfast, and they used to go there every Sunday morning when they were married.
They hadn’t been there in years.
“Six a.m.?”
She nodded.
Then he left and she turned back to the work at hand, trying to push the conversation aside. It was still there tickling her in the back of her head, though, as she tried to make sense of everything. Maybe that was why she worked better with machines and equipment. There was always an answer, a fix, a solution.
People? Not so much.
Ellen programmed the drone to recon using night vision, which was built in—enabling the drone to be lighter and use multiple advancements. They had a built-in camera as well, but because sometimes they needed different types of tech, they could add a stronger lens with additional features.
She attached a high-end night cam so that she could capture the best images when they played this video tomorrow. She’d record now, then edit and narrate at the hotel. She lived only fifteen minutes away, but because she had her equipment here, and she wanted to be accessible for meeting with potential clients, she decided to get a room for the conference.
Earlier, she’d planted tech in the area to simulate drugs, weapons, and people, all within a quarter-mile radius of the hotel convention center, in order to show how sharp the surveillance could be.
She manipulated the drone—she had to admit, this was the fun part—taking notes as it moved smoothly, almost completely silent, over the area. There—a light, special paint on a box to simulate the heat signature of a recently fired gun. There were people walking down the street, but they didn’t even look up at the drone. It was that quiet—a huge plus when law enforcement needed eyes but didn’t necessarily want the bad guys knowing.
As she worked, she took notes, recorded, and mentally prepared for her presentation.
But in the back of her mind she was thinking about Marc.
She didn’t want to sell the company. But Marc was right about one thing: When the drone tech took off, they could hire more staff. She wouldn’t have to work every conference. She liked the work . . . but maybe she should think about her other needs. Like affection. A life outside of work. She and Marc used to go camping all the time. They had dreamed of visiting the Australian outback again. That’s where they’d gone for their honeymoon, and maybe . . . just maybe . . . that’s where they should go to see if they could reclaim what they’d once had.