Fiona satat her assigned table, heels pinching slightly beneath the linen-draped chair. She didn’t usually wear them, and every shift in her seat reminded her how unfamiliar they were. The room made her feel dowdy, out of place.
She’d wanted to be here. She really had. This was a big night for him.
She just hadn’t realized she wouldn’t be sitting with him.
Dean was up front with the nominated team, all sharp suits and easy laughter. Fiona’s seat was a few tables back, nestled among more of his colleagues.
“Fiona, right?” a woman said as she settled into her seat. “You’re the schoolteacher?”
“Fifth grade,” Fiona said, smiling automatically.
“Oh, wow. So different from what we do.” The woman’s tone wasn’t unkind, just… dismissive. “Must be nice to be offline all day.”
Fiona laughed, unsure if it was meant as a compliment or a dig. “Well, I spend a lot of time teaching ten-year-olds how to punctuate, so… sort of.”
The woman turned away, not bothering to conceal her disinterest. Fiona tried not to mind.
She looked at Dean instead—so handsome in his suit—and felt a flutter of something solid, something warm. That was hers.Hewas hers.
The table filled with buzz—campaign names, client budgets, industry gossip. Fiona tried to follow, but every reference felt like a code she hadn’t been given. When she offered a light comment about how some ad had nice narration, one of Dean’s coworkers laughed a beat too loud and said, “Spoken like a true teacher.”
Her cheeks flushed. She forced a smile and looked down at her plate.
It was always like this. The conversations had edges, angles. She kept trying to say the right thing and still ended up sounding like someone who wandered in from the service elevator.
She looked at Dean. He was in his element—laughing, gesturing, polished to a shine. Even from across the room, he made her feel tethered. Like she hadn’t wandered into the wrong life after all.
The woman beside her leaned in, “You must have such patience. I could never talk to kids all day. What a bore!”
It was meant to be flattering, maybe. Fiona nodded politely.
What she wanted to say was:I like talking to kids all day.
But instead she said nothing. Just took another sip of her wine.
The start of the ceremony brought a small wave of relief. No more forced laughter. No more polite disinterest.
Fiona only realized that it was Dean’s category when his table erupted. He stood, gracious and smooth, shaking hands, leaning in for photos.
Fiona clapped along with the rest of the room as Dean and his team filed up the steps. Her chest swelled with pride.
Richard stepped up to the microphone first. He launched into the usual corporate gratitude.
But Fiona only had eyes for her husband. He looked handsome up there.
She was still glowing when the creative director’s tone shifted, becoming more conversational, more intimate.
"I have to give special recognition to one of our most... let's call him resourceful team members."
Fiona bit her lip. She hoped he was going to give Dean a shout-out.
"I don't think I'm revealing any insider secrets when I tell you that Fiona—yes,theFiona—is here with us tonight."
He pointed and attention swung toward their table.
Fiona felt every face in the room turn toward her. Hundreds of eyes. That awful, expectant hush that comes right before a crowd decides whether to laugh or applaud.
She blinked, caught in the spotlight.
