Marcus studied her.
That was more self-aware than he expected.
"Okay."
She looked at the child sleeping against him.
"Do you have a ride?"
"Waiting."
"Does it have a booster seat?"
"I requested one."
Victoria glanced at her phone.
"Let me arrange a company car."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
There was a pause.
"I would like to."
Marcus nearly refused.
Pride came quickly.
Then he remembered he had donated blood, was tired, and had a sleeping six-year-old to carry.
Accepting a ride did not erase dignity.
"All right."
Victoria made one call.
Not to some fleet of limousines.
To Ashford's contracted car service, which maintained child seats for executive family transportation.
Fifteen minutes later, an SUV arrived.
Marcus buckled Lily into the booster.
Before he closed the door, Victoria stood beside him.
"Mr. Webb."
"Marcus."
Her eyes lifted.
"Marcus."
"Thank you."
He nodded.
"I hope Emma recovers."
Then he got in.
Victoria remained beneath the hospital entrance lights as the SUV pulled away.
The next morning, Victoria did not attend the nine o'clock executive meeting.
Not because the board had threatened her for choosing her daughter.
That would have made for dramatic storytelling and terrible governance.
The company had emergency succession procedures precisely because executives had human lives.
CFO Robert Hale had handled the investor presentation.
The company remained standing.
Victoria stayed beside Emma until after sunrise.
At ten-thirty, while her daughter slept, Victoria opened her laptop.
There were eighty-three unread emails.
Three messages from board chair Harold Weston.
The first:
Robert covered the investor session. Focus on Emma. Call when able.
The second:
Board has been briefed. No action needed from you today.
The third:
I heard about the lobby incident from HR. When you're ready, we need to discuss that separately.
Victoria stared at the last one.
The lobby.
Marcus.
Apparently somebody had reported her.
A year earlier, that would have infuriated her.
She would have asked who.
Demanded context.
Explained urgency.
This morning, she typed:
Yes. We do.
Then closed the laptop.
Emma stirred.
"Mom?"
Victoria was at the bedside instantly.
"I'm here."
Emma's eyes opened slowly.
"Did I have surgery?"
"Yes."
"Did they cut me?"
Victoria smiled through tears.
"A little."
"Cool."
"That is not the word I would use."
Emma looked around.
"Where's the man?"
"What man?"
"The man from the hallway."
Victoria understood.
"His name is Marcus."
"He told me I wasn't alone."
"I know."
"Is he a doctor?"
"No."
"Nurse?"
"No."
"What is he?"
Victoria nearly answered:
A janitor.
The word stopped before leaving her mouth.
Not because janitor was shameful.
Because the question itself was larger.
What was Marcus Webb?
A father.
Widower.
Donor.
Worker.