Dennis received the “Manager of the Year” plaque with a smile that felt heavy. Applause thundered, cameras flashed, but backstage in the stairwell, his smartwatch warned: Stress high. The image was perfect the man behind it was not. He leaned against the railing, and the echo of a memory returned the night he lost Jenny.

Image by AdelinaZw from Pixabay

Three years earlier she had walked into his office with a deck of analysis she had worked on for weeks. He used it in a client meeting, claimed the insight as his own, and got the praise. When she confronted him he called it teamwork. She called it theft. Their fight spilled into the hallway. She was his girlfriend. But she left both the project and him.

Now she was back as a lead auditor for a compliance review. When she entered the conference room, crisp and unreadable, she said only, “Mr. Reid.” Not Dennis.

Her team quickly flagged a pattern where analysts’ work presented by managers, bonuses tilted upward. A mirror Dennis could not dodge. The board pressed him for clean results. His instinct was to bury the findings. But Jenny’s presence unsettled that reflex.

That night, monsoon rain cut the power. Elevators stalled, and he and Jenny climbed twelve flights by phone light. On the sixth floor landing she stopped.

“You’re breathing too fast.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not.” Her eyes held him. “You have built a life around looking untouchable. But loneliness leaks through.”

He surprised himself. “Since that night I have written seventeen apologies and sent none. I told myself timing mattered. Truth is that I was protecting me.”

“You hurt me” she said quietly. “Not by winning, but by making me invisible.”

“I know” he admitted it. He said, “let me fix what I can.”

The next morning he asked for an unscheduled board slot. He stood with trembling hands and said: “Delayed fairness is theft.” He listed analysts names beside projects that had carried his signature and proposed a new policy which was authorship credit on all deliverables. It was also added that bonuses will be tied to documented attribution, and a fair appeal system.

Some directors warned him about optics. Two managers fumed. But analysts exhaled relief. Jenny’s audit report documented the change, precise and unemotional.

Their interactions remained tense. He wanted a glossy rollout; she pushed for pilot tests. Emails between them read like chess until he conceded to evidence and she to timelines. Slowly, arguments became conversations.

In a second private meeting, Dennis dropped rehearsals. “I took credit for your work. That was not ambiguity but it was selfishness. I am sorry.” Jenny studied him. “Apologies buy nothing by themselves. Se tapped the policy draft.

“Is there a second chance for us?”

“Maybe. But not from the balcony. One floor at a time.”

They started with coffee in the lobby while talking of harmless things such as her hikes, his failed cooking experiments. Work tested them harder. She criticized his pet campaign and he admitted in the meeting she was right. Small but visible shifts built trust.

Months later at the year end town hall the CEO announced the new policy as a competitive advantage. Analysts and managers stood together on stage. Jenny lingered at the edge ready to fade, but Dennis motioned for the authors to take the spotlight while he stepped back. Applause rose not for him but for them.

Later, on the rooftop garden city lights flickered through the haze. “Thirteen does not feel cursed anymore” Dennis said. “It was never cursed,” Jenny replied. “It was just a floor we skipped.”

He offered his hand, simple and unguarded. “Second chance?” She took it briefly, then let go so they could both stand firm. “Second chance,” she said. “But we climb properly this time—no elevator.”

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