It's Career Day at Angelique's preschool.
A room full of coloring books, glitter glue, and tiny chairs that destroy adult backs. Parents are scheduled to talk about their jobs, bring snacks, and help the kids build their "What I Want to Be" vision boards.
Simple. Sweet. Chaos.
I was supposed to present alone—talk a bit about branding, communication, and leadership using words four-year-olds can understand.
But my morning explodes with back-to-back emergencies. One of our clients nearly cancels a campaign due to a supply chain issue. Ryan steps in beside me at my desk.
"You'll be late," he says, noticing the time.
I mutter, "Unless you know how to clone me, I can't be in two places at once."
And then—he says the wildest thing:
"I'll go."
I pause mid-email.
"To the preschool?"
He shrugs, casual. "You already prepared the materials. I'll wing the talk. It's either me or Angelique gets stood up."
I blink.
"I didn't ask you to—"
"You didn't have to."
And with that, he's gone.
Thirty minutes later, Ryan Santillan—CEO, emotionally unavailable, allergic to small talk—walks into a room filled with toddlers.
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He survives.
Actually—he thrives.
I arrive just in time to see him sitting cross-legged on the floor, letting the kids "interview" him.
Angelique is right beside him, pointing proudly.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRnNxh4BX3J
"That's my mommy's boss!" she tells her teacher.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMDxSCMq6ca
"She says he's cranky but he's super smart!"
Ryan laughs. Like, genuinely.
Later, while helping her glue magazine cutouts of "doctors," "chefs," and "superheroes" onto her dream board, he asks gently, "What about your dad?"
Angelique shrugs. "Mommy says he's not ready to be part of my story."
And Ryan... just nods.
Not shocked. Not judgmental.
Just present.
After the event, I catch him outside near the pick-up line, looking like he just survived war. There's glitter in his hair.
"You actually went," I say, stunned.
He glances at me, then smiles. Not smug. Just... soft.
"She's amazing," he says. "You made someone really special."
My chest tightens.
"She gets the spark from you," I reply before I can stop myself.
He clears his throat. "She asked if I could come again next time."
"Oh?"
"She said I don't talk too much. That I'm her favorite boring adult."
I laugh. So does he.
For a second, we just stand there. Quiet. Together.
And in that space, something shifts again.
Not forced. Not fast.
Just one more brick crumbling off the wall between us.
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