The Architect of Tomorrow's Regrets

The corporate pyramid rose before her, glass faceted against the gray Seattle sky. Elena adjusted her beret, the only splash of color in her monochrome ensemble. At thirty-two, she'd already learned that the right accessories could armor you against the daily indignities of middle management.

"Dr. Chen, the presentation—" Her assistant's voice crackled through the intercom, fraying like a worn cable.

"I'm coming." Elena stared at her reflection. Dark circles under hazel eyes, mouth drawn tight. She looked like everyone else in this building—like something half-alive, shambling through meetings with robotic enthusiasm. They called it corporate culture. She called it being a zombie with a 401k.

The elevator ride took forever. When the doors opened, David was waiting, his smile too bright, his suit too expensive. Three years since their divorce, and still they ended up in the same meetings, pitching to the same clients, pretending that the bitterness between them was just creative tension.

"The Numark account," David said, falling into step beside her. "You ready?"

"Always."

"Liar. You haven't slept."

She stopped. "David. Not here. Not now."

He touched her arm, his fingers warm. "I found that photograph yesterday. The one from Paris. Do you remember?"

Of course she remembered. The last weekend before everything fell apart. Standing on the hotel balcony, wearing that ridiculous beret he'd bought from a street vendor, laughing so hard her ribs ached. Before the promotions, before the long hours became a weapon, before they learned that loving someone didn't mean you could build a life together.

"We were happy," he said quietly.

"We were young."

"Are you happy, Elena?"

The elevator dinged. Their floor. The moment stretched between them, thin and trembling as a cable about to snap.

She adjusted her hat. "I have a presentation to give."

"Right." His hand fell away. "Always the architect."

She walked into the conference room alone. Behind her, David let out a breath that might have been a laugh or a sob. The glass pyramid waited outside, indifferent to all of them, gathering clouds like secrets it would never tell.