I sat in that parking lot for a long time before I could drive home. When I finally told my wife what had happened, she didn’t say a word about the account or the pitch. She just held me and said I’d done the right thing, that she’d rather be married to a man who stopped than one who kept driving. It helped. But it didn’t pay the mortgage, and by that night the fear had set in, three years gone, a family to feed, and a boss who’d made sure everyone knew why I was fired.

Two days later, I went back to clean out my desk, mostly because Marcus had refused to let me take my things the morning he threw me out. I expected humiliation. Instead, I walked into an office that had gone strangely quiet, and every head turned toward me. The receptionist stood up. “Julian,” she said carefully, “there’s someone in the conference room. She’s been here since this morning. She said she wouldn’t leave until she spoke to the man who saved her life.” My stomach dropped. Through the glass, I could see a woman in an elegant suit sitting perfectly upright at the head of the table, and standing beside her, pale and sweating, was Marcus. The woman turned, saw me, and stood. And when she said my name, I understood that everything was about to change.