Page 41 of Designing Love
My heart lifts slightly at the thought, a quiet smile appearing despite myself. “I guess he did. And — well, I can’t deny it feels…nice. It’s really nice, actually. Spending time with Ethan is as easy and natural as breathing. Like someone finally hit the pause button on my life, and I didn’t even realize how badly I needed that. But still…”
Sage nods encouragingly. “Slow pace suits you. You’re happier. You’re even enjoying design again — no frantic deadlines, no demanding clients. Just you, your ideas, and endless Pinterest rabbit holes.”
I laugh softly, warmth filling me at her insight. “Exactly. I’d forgotten how much I love researching old houses and choosing paint colors without someone breathing down my neck. It’s freeing, even if it is just temporary.”
Sage leans forward slightly, raising one elegantly skeptical eyebrow. “Who says it’s temporary?”
“Reality,” I reply dryly. “Leisurely research and design don’t exactly pay the bills.”
Sage gives a gentle snort, leaning back in her chair. “And what bills, exactly, are we worrying about?”
I blink, momentarily speechless. “You know, life bills? Rent, groceries, retirement…”
She gestures toward the house around us, filled with mismatched furniture, brightly colored fabrics, and collections of whimsical art pieces. “Rent’s free — beach house is family property. Groceries? We grow vegetables, I have the art gallery for income, and maybe we spend too much on takeout sushi. Retirement is for boring people. Next?”
I roll my eyes, laughing despite myself. “OK, fair. But I can’t freeload off you forever. At some point, I have to be responsible.”
“You have always been responsible. Maybe too responsible.”
“What’s wrong with responsibility?” I ask defensively, setting down my muffin.
“Nothing if it’s balanced. But your whole life, Sophia, you’ve made cautious choices. Good school, steady career, safe relationships. Isn’t it possible you’ve earned the right to be less careful now? And…”
Sage starts playing with the edge of her tunic.
“And what?”
“You have an inheritance from your parents… There’s a cushion for you to fall back on.”
I scrunch my eyebrows. “What inheritance?”
“They didn’t like Daniel,” she says, gently but with a firmness that makes it clear this isn’t news. “That was never a secret. But what you didn’t know is... they had excellent insurance policies. Quiet, long-term planning types. When they passed, they left everything in a trust. They asked me to manage it, to keep it safe in case you ever really needed it.”
My jaw drops. “Sage…”
“They were afraid Daniel would convince you to invest in something risky or bleed you dry in a breakup. So they came to me. And I’ve kept it tucked away all this time, just like they asked.”
I lean back in my chair, stunned. “You created a trust fund... for me?”
“For you. For rainy days. For new beginnings. For moments when you might need to take a leap without knowing where you’ll land.”
“But why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I don’t know,” she interrupts gently. “They were proud of your independence. But Sophia, this wasn’t about money. It was about protection. They wanted to give you freedom without strings. They just didn’t think you’d have it while Daniel was in the picture.”
The silence between us stretches, weighty but not uncomfortable.
Then I exhale a shaky breath. “So what you’re saying is... I’m not broke if I walk away from the business, I’m just emotionally frugal?”
Sage snorts. “Exactly.”
I sigh heavily. “OK… I need a minute to process all of this, Sage. But what if this — being here, this easy pace — is just running away from reality? What if it’s not sustainable?”
Sage shrugs lightly, smiling. “Or what if this is your reality? Maybe Vancouver was the illusion — stress, competition, constantly chasing something that didn’t really matter. Why can’t this be real?”
I sit quietly, watching a seagull hop across the sand below, absorbing her words. My heartbeat slows slightly, a strange weight lifting off my shoulders at the idea of accepting happiness without guilt.
“Do you really think Ethan fits into that reality?” I ask softly, the question slipping out before I can censor myself.
