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Perfect Timing
Control’s Illusion
Aubrey tapped her stylus against the tablet, a soft rhythm echoing in the meeting room. The investor call had run fifteen minutes over, and her bladder — compressed by twenty-four weeks of pregnancy — was protesting loudly.
“We’re looking at Q3 for implementation,” Ted was saying, his voice distant through her discomfort.
“Excuse me,” Aubrey cut in. “I need a five-minute break.”
Eyes flickered to her rounded belly. Ted nodded, all understanding boss now. “Of course. Let’s take ten, everyone.”
In the bathroom, Aubrey stared at herself in the mirror. Her tailored maternity blazer still looked sharp, but her face betrayed her exhaustion. Dark circles had become permanent fixtures.
“Just sixteen more weeks,” she murmured to her reflection. Sixteen weeks until maternity leave. Sixteen weeks until the neat, organized plan she’d crafted came to fruition.
She’d done everything right. Built her career at Meridian Tech for eight years. Secured her director position. Discussed timing with Ryan until they’d settled on the perfect window — summer baby, so she’d return in time for year-end planning. She’d even frozen her eggs at 32 as “insurance,” though they hadn’t needed them in the end.
