Chapter 21 - What Strength Looks Like
Chapter 21: What Strength Looks Like
Crystal didn’t flinch in meetings anymore.
She used to second-guess her tone, worry if she was taking up too much space. Now, she made decisions. Negotiated numbers. Even pushed back when a senior manager tried to edge her out of a pitch.
She was building a name. Brick by brick. Slide by slide.
But with each climb, a quiet voice followed her home:
Is it okay to want more… when he says he’s already happy with less?
He was always there — steady, dependable.
6 AM deliveries. 2 PM inventory runs. Evenings at the shop counter, tweaking lighting, changing displays, managing part-timers.
Once, she asked him why he never pushed to scale.
He had looked at her and said:
“Because I like being close to what I build. I like fixing things with my hands. I don’t need to manage people to feel successful.”
She admired that. Truly, she did.
But some nights, after a long day filled with strategy meetings and Slack messages, Crystal would lie in bed and wonder:
Will he understand the pressure I carry — the expectations, the long-game thinking, the politics?
Will he still want me if I keep outgrowing what people think is “normal” in a relationship?
It came to a head one weekend.
They were browsing a lifestyle store. She was looking at kitchenware, mentally furnishing her dream BTO flat. He was admiring a toolkit set near the back.
She joked, “Maybe you should just be a contractor full-time.”
He smiled. “Maybe. Then I could renovate our house someday.”
She laughed. But then she paused.
“You really don’t want to do more? Like grow the shop, take on bigger orders, hire staff?”
He shrugged. “I could. But that’s not what makes me happy.”
She didn’t say it, but the silence after felt heavier than it should have.
That night, they ate in silence. Both sensing the tension they weren’t ready to name.
Finally, he asked, “Are you worried I’m not ambitious enough?”
She blinked. “What?”
He said it again, calmly. Not defensive. Just… open.
“I see how hard you’re working. The way people listen to you. I’m proud of you, you know?”
Crystal swallowed. “I’m not ashamed of you. I just—sometimes I worry we’ll grow in opposite directions. That I’ll need someone who understands my world, and you’ll feel like you’re not part of it.”
He looked at her then — not hurt. Just clear.
“Crystal, I don’t need to be in your world to support it. I just need you to let me stand beside you.”
She looked down, quiet. Then said, “And I don’t want to look down and realize I left you behind.”
“You won’t,” he said. “Because I’m not running behind you. I’m walking with you — just from a different path.”
The next week, her manager praised her presentation. Called her indispensable.
She nodded. Said thank you. But her mind flashed not to her boss, not to her KPIs.
But to a man in a shop apron, wiring new lighting by hand. The one who didn’t care about her title, but always had time to walk her home after late meetings.
She typed into her notes app that night:
It’s not the job title that makes someone equal.
It’s the way they show up. Again. And again.
And he shows up like clockwork — not with grandeur, but with grace.
Maybe that’s what strength looks like.