The Angel Round Arrives
They truly got the company off the ground. Named "NestI Q," it moved from our home office to a real business suite—small but bright and tidy. One weekend, I brought our daughter Emma over with soup. Through the glass door, Ethan and Sophia stood side by side before a projector screen, addressing a group of suited individuals.
Sophia gestured sharply, speaking briskly, while Ethan interjected technical details with steady confidence. From outside, the voices buzzed indistinctly. Emma tiptoed: "Mommy, Aunt Sophia is glowing!" Her tiny fingers pressed against the cold glass, leaving smudged prints. My heart clenched. It felt like a thread catching on a sweater cuff—a tiny snag, pulling uncomfortably, impossible to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. Women are like tightly coiled strings; the slightest breeze sets them vibrating.
Silence at Home
The night the company secured its first substantial angel investment, we opened champagne at home. Ethan popped the cork, and foam spilled out joyfully. He was unusually excited, cheeks flushed. "Amazing, darling!" I hugged him tightly. He returned the embrace, his arms strong yet distant. He pulled away quickly. "Yeah, a good start," he murmured, downing his glass.
"Sophia is still sorting the investors' follow-ups. I need to check emails in the study." The champagne flute stayed in my hand, chillingly cold, beads of condensation on its rim. The living room light cast a haze into the glass, fracturing into shimmering gold reflections. Emma called from her room for a bedtime story. His footsteps faded completely after the study door closed. I sat on the sofa, listening to the refrigerator's monotonous hum and the faint pop of champagne bubbles one by one. That silence had weight, pressing heavily onto the carpet.
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They truly got the company off the ground. Named "NestI Q," it moved from our home office to a real business suite—small but bright and tidy. One weekend, I brought our daughter Emma over with soup. Through the glass door, Ethan and Sophia stood side by side before a projector screen, addressing a group of suited individuals.
Sophia gestured sharply, speaking briskly, while Ethan interjected technical details with steady confidence. From outside, the voices buzzed indistinctly. Emma tiptoed: "Mommy, Aunt Sophia is glowing!" Her tiny fingers pressed against the cold glass, leaving smudged prints. My heart clenched. It felt like a thread catching on a sweater cuff—a tiny snag, pulling uncomfortably, impossible to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. Women are like tightly coiled strings; the slightest breeze sets them vibrating.
Silence at Home
The night the company secured its first substantial angel investment, we opened champagne at home. Ethan popped the cork, and foam spilled out joyfully. He was unusually excited, cheeks flushed. "Amazing, darling!" I hugged him tightly. He returned the embrace, his arms strong yet distant. He pulled away quickly. "Yeah, a good start," he murmured, downing his glass.
"Sophia is still sorting the investors' follow-ups. I need to check emails in the study." The champagne flute stayed in my hand, chillingly cold, beads of condensation on its rim. The living room light cast a haze into the glass, fracturing into shimmering gold reflections. Emma called from her room for a bedtime story. His footsteps faded completely after the study door closed. I sat on the sofa, listening to the refrigerator's monotonous hum and the faint pop of champagne bubbles one by one. That silence had weight, pressing heavily onto the carpet.
NEXT >>
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