---- Chapter 14 Portland, Oregon, was a city of bridges, roses, and a gentle, persistent rain that felt cleansing. The architectural firm, "Bridge City Design," was a breath of fresh air. My new colleagues were welcoming, passionate about their work, and refreshingly devoid of the backbiting politics of Cole & Vance. They valued collaboration, creativity. My boss, a pragmatic woman named Helen, saw my potential and wasn't afraid to challenge me. She entrusted me with a significant project early on: designing anew wing for a children' s discovery museum. It was a chance to be playful, imaginative, to create spaces that would inspire wonder. Noah had, as promised, given me a glowing recommendation. Helen mentioned how his belief in my talent had been a deciding factor. He called every evening. We talked about my day, his work at the regional hospital back east, the miles between us a tangible ache. ---- But his voice, his unwavering support, was a lifeline. One evening, after a particularly grueling day wrestling with a tricky design element, a delivery arrived at my small apartment. A box of Voodoo Doughnuts, the iconic Portland treat, and a small, hand-drawn card from Noah. It was a sketch of me, hunched over a drafting table, a determined frown on my face, with a speech bubble saying, "I will conquer this obtuse angle!" It made me laugh, a genuine, heartfelt laugh. He knew my struggles, my little quirks. He understood. A few months later, Noah flew out for a visit. Seeing him at the airport, his familiar smile, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me - it felt like coming home. He listened intently as | talked about the museum project, my frustrations, my small triumphs He walked through the half-finished site with me, asking thoughtful questions, offering quiet encouragement. One evening, after dinner, he found me asleep on the sofa, blueprints scattered around me. He gently scooped me up, like | weighed nothing, and carried me to bed. ---- | woke up briefly, feeling safe, cherished. "Are you happy here, Mia?" he whispered, tucking the blanket around me. "Yes," | murmured, already drifting back to sleep. "Happier than |' ve been in a long time." And it was true. | was doing work | loved, in a city that felt welcoming. | was free from Ethan' s shadow, from Isabella' s malice. | often thought back to my old belief, the one Ethan had so carefully cultivated: that leaving him, leaving New York, would be catastrophic. That | couldn' t survive without him. How wrong |' d been. Leaving him had been the beginning of my survival. Finding Noah, finding myself, had been the beginning of my thriving. Noah extended his visit, using up his vacation time. He' d sit quietly in my small living room while | worked, reading or sketching himself, a comfortable, companionable silence between us. Sometimes he' d look over my shoulder, offering a fresh perspective on a design problem, his insights surprisingly astute for an ER doctor. ---- He was interested, genuinely interested, in my work, in my passion. It was such a stark contrast to Ethan, who had only ever seen my talent as something to be controlled or, when it suited him, dismissed. One evening, as we were cooking dinner together in my tiny kitchen, | tried to put my gratitude into words. "Noah," | said, "thank you. For everything. For believing in me when | didn' t believe in myself. For... for Portland." He just smiled, stirring the pasta sauce. "You did the hard work, Mia. | just opened a door." But it was more than that. He had been my steadfast champion, my quiet defender. It was the small things, too. The way he remembered | liked my coffee, the way he' d leave little encouraging notes for me, the way his hand always found mine when we walked. These everyday moments of warmth, of genuine care, were slowly, surely, healing the old wounds. The museum wing opened to rave reviews. The local paper called it "a triumph of imagination and child- centered design." There was a small opening ceremony. | had to give a speech. ---- | was nervous, but as | looked out at the crowd, | saw Noah, his smile radiant, giving me a subtle thumbs-up. | found my voice. | talked about the power of design to shape experience, to spark joy. And then, | did something | hadn' t planned. "l also want to thank someone special," | said, my voice a little shaky. "Someone whose belief in me has been a constant source of strength. Noah Miller." He looked surprised, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. The crowd applauded. Later, as we were leaving, he slipped his arm around my waist. "You didn' t have to do that, you know." "Yes, | did," | said, leaning into him. | felt a profound sense of self, a quiet confidence |' d never known before. | was Mia Hayes, architect. A woman who had faced her demons and emerged, not unscathed, but stronger. "All | want is for you to be happy, Mia," Noah said, his voice soft, as he pulled me closer. "Truly, deeply happy." He kissed me then, a long, slow kiss that promised a future full of shared dreams and quiet joys. And in his arms, | knew | already was.