Chapter 8 - THE APARTMENT I BOUGHT MYSELF
Six months after the divorce, I bought a condo in Cambridge.
Smaller than Evan’s.
Two bedrooms.
Huge windows.
Terrible kitchen.
I loved it.
The realtor apologized for the outdated cabinets.
I said:
“Perfect.”
She looked confused.
I renovated slowly.
This time, every decision belonged to me.
Walnut cabinets.
Warm lights.
Simple dining table.
A refrigerator I bought during a holiday sale.
I laughed when it arrived.
The delivery driver asked:
“Something funny?”
“Long story.”
I kept the receipt.
Obviously.
My career changed too.
For years, I had been chief accountant at the same firm.
Reliable.
Precise.
Quietly underpromoted.
During the divorce, one of our partners asked me to lead a financial-controls modernization project.
I did.
It succeeded.
Then another.
Within two years, I became controller.
Then CFO of a mid-sized investment advisory company.
The first time someone introduced me at an industry dinner as:
“Natalie Brooks, our CFO,”
I almost looked behind me.
Not because I doubted my ability.
Because I had spent years being told importance was something Evan’s family conferred.
Turns out companies sometimes simply look at results.
May you like
Refreshing.
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