Page 3 of Five Years
Now, Leah unzipped her own oversized brown tote, pulled out an umbrella, tied her hair to one side, and tugged on gloves that would save her fingers from the ice-cold rain. The timing was perfect. The umbrella offered the cover she needed to avoid a group of women walking directly toward her. They were deep in conversation and passed by without a glance. Her heart dropped.
Making friends as an adult was tough. Leah missed her consistent group of friends in Michigan—well, she missed the group they’d been three years ago. One by one, they got married, had children, relocated. Group chats fell silent. Holiday get-togethers were replaced by family trips to the zoo or Disneyland.
Leah didn’t want to go to Disneyland. In fact, she couldn’t think of anything worse than wandering chaotic, snot-infested parks pretending to like her friends’ children when she was pretty sure each had been possessed by a low-level demon sent to quietly wreak havoc on life.
Since arriving in New York, it had been hard to form any new meaningful connections. She’d tried. She met the group of girls who’d just walked past at a work event. The open bar gave her the confidence to strike up conversation, and the night had felt likea night to remember, cliché as that sounded. She had a blast—drunk enough to forget her inhibitions, but sober enough to read the room and make good choices.
That night was followed by Sunday brunch, a walk around Central Park, and an invite to Wednesday-night drinks. Things took a turn when the conversation shifted to LGBTQ+ rights and the wave of new state laws targeting trans people. Leah argued that the 2015 Supreme Court ruling that legalized same-sex marriage could be overturned without continued activism. One girl replied, “I’m not homophobic, but—” which, as any queer person knows, is a red flag the size of Times Square.
Leah shut down immediately. Maybe she didn’t need friends after all.
Romantic connection proved just as difficult. She took a trial-and-error approach to dating. Aside from a brief two-month fling the year before, Leah had been single for over five years. Did she even know how to date anymore? She asked herself this each time she arrived home bloated, emotionally drained, and ready to tuck into the cherry pie she’d picked up on the way back.
Ironically, as she turned off Lexington Avenue, Taylor Swift’sWelcome to New Yorkplayed through her headphones like the unprompted soundtrack of her life. The song felt so relevant now, but she could never quite hear it without the reminder.
It reminded her of Ariana.
It had been five years since Leah last saw her. Half a decade. That was enough time to earn a degree, travel the world, build a career. Enough time to hit personal milestones, get married, buy a house.
A lot can change in five years. A group of friends can grow apart. Love can blossom. Life can knock you down a few times.
But the scariest part of half a decade isn’t whatdidhappen.
No. For Leah, it would always be whatcould’vehappened.
After torturing herself with three more songs from Ariana’s favourite album, Leah strolled into work feeling deflated. Five years had passed, and she still thought about her every single day. Nobody seemed to understand. Not even her therapist.
She went through a phase of waking at 6 a.m. to go running in an attempt to clear her mind. She spent more time with family and friends. She threw herself into work, volunteered when she could, and dedicated an absurd amount of time to her new hobby—learning French.
On the off chance she decided to move to Paris, she wanted to be able to converse with the locals. It wasn’t something she’d considered in much detail, but she’d once stumbled across a French-language film. Two hours later, she didn’t understand a word, could barely follow the plot, but had fallen in love with the setting and the swoon-worthy language.
The truth? Leah was terrified of being hurt again. She still clung to a quiet, delusional hope that one day Ariana would realize she’d made a mistake. Leah had considered reaching out, but pride always overruled impulse. Her last two-month relationship had ended because she couldn’t let go of the past. And while Leah considered herself smart—she didn’t need atherapist to tell her what she already knew—letting go was proving harder than she’d anticipated.
Heartache had a way of reducing the world to just two people. And some days, it felt like a lonely, torturous injustice.
She breezed past security and took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. She liked to arrive early—sometimes even before her father—so she could prepare for the day. But this morning hadn’t allowed for that luxury, and she knew it would be the talk of the office.
The floor buzzed with professionals already deep into their routines. Some were on calls, others hunched over laptops or clustered in meeting rooms. The pace was brisk and intense—nothing like her old job. The challenge thrilled her. The office politics did not.
Douglas Green was an intimidating man with a commanding presence. He stood 6’4” with broad shoulders, chiselled features, and a full head of silver hair. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, every movement he made was precise and deliberate. Leah had always admired his sharp intellect and unshakable confidence, but it wasn’t until she watched him in action that she truly understood his reputation. He got results. People listened when he spoke.
She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever be able to adopt that same steel-edged authority—or earn the loyalty and respect of his employees.
“Can I have a quick rundown of the day, please, sweetheart?” Douglas asked.
Eloise at reception blinked at Leah. She was just one in a long line of people who disliked Leah for her seamless entry into the financial world.
“Dad,” Leah muttered.
“What?”
“Will you stop calling me sweetheart at work? I told you—I’m trying to fit in.”
“I call everyone sweetheart,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
“I’ve never heard you refer to anyone by anything other than their surname,” she challenged.
“Okay, I get it. I’m trying. Treating your own daughter like an employee is hard,” he said, clearing his throat theatrically. “Let me try again. Green, give me a rundown of the day.”
