The woman who had everything.......maybe
At twenty-five, I had mastered control.
Not perfectly—but enough for it to look effortless.
I was an accountant at one of the most powerful corporations in the country. Numbers obeyed me. Systems bent in my favor. Deadlines didn’t chase me—I chased them first and broke them before they could become pressure.
People often called me efficient.
Some called me intimidating.
Most stayed out of my way.
And I preferred it like that.
Because emotions were variables.
And variables ruined precision.
At work, I was cold.
Deliberately so.
I didn’t entertain unnecessary conversations. I didn’t linger at coffee machines. I didn’t smile unless required—and even then, it was measured, controlled, strategic.
They respected me.
Or feared me.
Both worked.
At home—
I was something else entirely.
Not softer.
Just… different.
I was my younger sister Lila’s unwilling babysitter—even though she was twenty and more than capable of taking care of herself.
I carried groceries.
I fixed things my father broke while experimenting with whatever “brilliant idea” he had that week.
I listened to my mother’s endless gossip like it was breaking news.
I existed there—not as control—but as connection.
Messy. Loud. Real.
Balanced.
…Maybe.
