This was the moment Natalie was supposed to bail her out. She was supposed to pretend this job was not above Mandy’s pay grade. She was supposed to correct the mistake and cover up for the woman’s incompetence. She had been doing it for months and months.

“Did you do a final check on those numbers?” she asked.

“Sure,” Mandy said breezily. “I wouldn’t have sent it in if it wasn’t final.”

Natalie hesitated a few seconds longer. She was about to hand over the pages with her corrections. And once again, Mandy would be saved.

On the other hand, she could accept the woman’s word that the document was final, and Mandy would be toast. Out.

She was about to point out the errors when she hesitated again. No. Fuck it.

Then she said simply, “Okay,” and walked away.

And for some reason she didn’t understand, she took a deep breath and felt better. She remembered reading something she’d come across in her mother’s favorite Mary Oliver book when she was looking for a piece to read at the memorial. Listen—are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

Natalie knew she’d been too afraid to live her life. She had sold it to the firm for a big salary. But what she’d really sold was her own happiness. Despite her need for steadiness and predictability, she couldn’t stand her own life anymore.

She was furious at her mother for leaving her with nothing—no words of wisdom, no path to guide Natalie along the journey. Now she understood, finally, that the lesson was in the way Blythe Harper had lived her life.

She walked straight into Rupert’s office. He was bent over his golf putter, aiming a golf ball at a cup on the floor. “Hey, Rupert.”

The shot rolled past the cup. “Dang,” he said, straightening up and turning to face her. “You made me miss.”

“Sorry—” Don’t apologize. “I’ve decided to leave,” she said. “Right away.”

He glanced at the clock. “It’s only three thirty, and I still need those warehouse reports from your team.”

“I imagine you do,” she said.

“But whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand. “We might be able to spare you this afternoon. Get them in first thing tomorrow.”

“No, I mean I’m leaving. Today. For good.”

His brow furrowed. “You mean you’re quitting?”

“Yes.” She nearly hyperventilated as she said it.

“What the hell? You can’t quit. We’re in the middle of our biggest project of the year. The state wedding’s in two weeks, and I need you to manage the inventory for Cast Iron, and—Why would you ditch me now?”