Chapter 8

Three years after that terrible day at the lakeside house, my father got sick.

It was sudden. A heart attack. He was seventy-two. He survived, but it was a wake-up call.

I moved in with him for a month. Marcus came too. We took care of him. Cooked for him. Made him rest.

One evening, we were sitting on his balcony, watching the sunset.

"Amelia," he said. "I'm getting old. I want you to take over Hale-Morrison. Not now. But soon. You're smart. You're strong. You're ethical. And you care about people. That's rare in this business."

I looked at him. "Dad, I don't want to run a healthcare company. I want to run The Amelia Project. That's my passion."

He smiled. "Then run both. Or merge them. Hale-Morrison can fund The Amelia Project. You can be CEO of both. Use the company's resources to help more women. That's what I want. That's what your mother would've wanted."

I thought about it. A healthcare company. A foundation. Combined. Helping women. Helping families. Helping people who'd been hurt.

"Okay," I said. "Okay. But only if Marcus stays on as CMO. I need him."

Marcus, who'd been quiet, smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

My father squeezed my hand. "Then it's settled. Amelia Morrison, CEO of Hale-Morrison Health and founder of The Amelia Project. Has a nice ring to it."

It did.

Six months later, I took over. I was the youngest CEO in the company's history. The first woman. I changed the culture. We invested in women's health. In domestic violence services. In mental health. We made healthcare accessible. We made it humane.

And The Amelia Project grew. Ten offices. Thousands of women helped. We became a national model.

I was busy. Happy. Fulfilled.

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And I was healing. The nightmares stopped. The flinching stopped. I trusted Marcus completely. I loved him. He loved me.

Life was good.