The way we were

The lakefront trail stretches out before me like a ribbon of gray, cutting through the early morning mist that clings to the water. My sneakers slap the pavement in a steady rhythm, each step a small rebellion against the chaos of the world. Running is my sanctuary, the one place where I can outrun my thoughts.

The air is cool, tangy with the scent of damp earth and lake water, and I breathe it in deep, letting it fill my lungs. Chicago at dawn is quiet, almost reverent, the skyline looming like a silent promise of order and control—two things I’ve fought hard to make my own.Six years ago, I was a different Claire Lawson. Back then, I was all heart and no armor, chasing dreams and people who didn’t deserve me. I’ve rebuilt since then, piece by piece, into someone who doesn’t bend so easily.

My life is a carefully curated machine now: running at 6 a.m., coffee at Café Bellamy by 7, at my desk at Arden & Co. by 8:30, spreadsheets and emails and the kind of structure that keeps the past where it belongs—buried. But some mornings, like today, I feel a faint tug, like a ghost whispering at the edge of my mind. I shake it off, pick up my pace, and focus on the burn in my legs.By the time I reach Café Bellamy, the sun is just starting to paint the sky in soft pinks and golds.

The little shop is tucked into a corner of the Loop, its faded red awning and mismatched tables giving it a charm that feels like home. The bell above the door jingles as I step inside, and the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans wraps around me like a hug.“Morning, Claire!” calls Maria, the barista who’s been here longer than I’ve been coming. She’s got a streak of purple in her hair today, and her smile is as warm as the steam rising from the espresso machine.“Hey, Maria,” I say, tugging out my earbuds. “Usual, please.”

“Double-shot latte, oat milk, no sugar, in a to-go cup because you’re always running somewhere,” she teases, already reaching for a cup. “You ever gonna sit down and enjoy this place?”I laugh, leaning against the counter. “Maybe when I’m retired. Got a big day at work—new CEO announcement. Gotta stay on my game.”Maria raises an eyebrow, her hands moving with practiced ease as she pulls the espresso shots.

“New CEO, huh? Any juicy office gossip?”“Not yet,” I say, grinning. “But give it a week. Corporate shake-ups always bring drama.”She slides the cup across the counter, and I hand her my card. “Well, you keep me posted. I live for this stuff.”“Deal,” I say, tucking the card back into my phone case. My phone buzzes as I step away, and I glance down to see a text from Lena, my best friend and coworker, who’s probably already at the office despite it being barely 7:15.Lena: Yo, you see the email about the new CEO yet? Big mystery vibes.

People are freaking out.I frown, sipping my latte as I type back. Me: Nope, just finished my run. What’s the deal?Lena: No name yet, just some cryptic “visionary leader” nonsense. Meeting at 9 to announce. Bet it’s another suit with a God complex.I snort, picturing Lena rolling her eyes at her desk, her bright red curls probably a mess from her habit of tugging at them when she’s annoyed. Me: Sounds about right. Save me a seat?Lena: Only if you bring me a croissant.

I shake my head, pocketing my phone as I head toward my apartment to shower and change. The walk is short, just a few blocks, but it’s enough time to let my mind wander. A new CEO. Arden & Co. has been my professional home for four years, a boutique marketing firm that’s small enough to feel personal but big enough to attract clients with deep pockets. I’ve clawed my way to senior account manager, and I’m not about to let some new executive derail my momentum.

Still, change makes me uneasy. I’ve worked too hard to let anything—or anyone—disrupt the life I’ve built.Back at my apartment, I move through my routine with precision: shower, blow-dry my hair into loose waves, pick out a tailored navy blazer and cream blouse that say “competent but not trying too hard.” I glance at myself in the mirror—dark brown eyes, a few freckles across my nose, a jawline that’s sharper now than it was six years ago, thanks to running and a stubborn refusal to let myself go. I look like someone who has it together. Most days, I even believe it.But as I apply a quick swipe of mascara, that tug from earlier creeps back.

It’s not just the CEO announcement. It’s the weight of memory, the kind that sneaks up when you least expect it.

Six years ago, I thought I had everything figured out—love, career, the whole package. Then Hayden Carter walked out of my life without so much as a note, leaving me to pick up the pieces of a heart I didn’t know could break that badly. I don’t think about him every day anymore. I don’t let myself. But some days, like today, the past feels closer than it should.I shake it off, grab my bag, and head out the door.

The L train is crowded but familiar, and I find a spot near the window, watching the city blur by. By the time I step into Arden & Co.’s sleek office on the 12th floor of a glassy downtown building, I’m back in control, my game face on.Lena’s waiting for me in the break room, her curls spilling over a mustard-yellow sweater that only she could pull off. She’s holding a mug of tea and scrolling through her phone, but she looks up when I walk in, her green eyes sparkling with mischief.“Croissant?” she demands, holding out her hand.I roll my eyes, tossin