It happens in the middle of a Tuesday.
Not dramatic.
Not catastrophic.
Not even loud.
Just a sentence that doesn’t land the way it should.
Marcus is in the kitchen reviewing proposals for the mentorship academy pilot. I’m at the dining table editing a chapter draft. Eleanor is in the playpen dismantling a wooden puzzle with alarming focus.
“I’m thinking about stepping back from the foundation board entirely,” Marcus says.
The words pass through the air like any other.
Except they don’t settle.
They hover.
I look up slowly.
“Stepping back how?”
“Fully. Not executive chair. Not advisory. Just… not on the board.”
Silence.
“That’s sudden.”
“It’s not.”
“It feels sudden.”
He folds the document in front of him.
“It’s been building for a while.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t look at me imm
