Sienna: The Retreat
Sienna spent Sunday morning reorganizing her spice cabinet.
It was unnecessary. The spices were already alphabetized, the jars uniform and labeled, everything exactly where it should be. But reorganizing gave her hands something to do while her mind spun through scenarios she couldn’t control.
Tomorrow, she’d call Patricia Kendall back. Tomorrow, she’d find out what Sterling & Associates actually wanted, whether it was a simple consultation or something more involved. Tomorrow, she’d have to decide if she was willing to step back into a world she’d spent three years avoiding.
She moved the cumin half an inch to the left and tried not to think about it.
Her phone rang. Maya.
“Please tell me you’re not working on a Sunday,” Maya said by way of greeting.
“I’m not working. I’m organizing.”
“That’s worse. You only organize when you’re anxious.” There was shuffling on Maya’s end, the sound of a door closing. “Okay, I got privacy. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Sienna sat down at her kitchen table, staring at the herb garden that needed watering. “Remember Sterling & Associates?”
“Our old job? The one we swore we’d never think about again after we escaped?”
“They emailed me. They want me to do some kind of retrospective analysis on the concussion case, and they mentioned consulting opportunities.”
Maya was quiet for a beat. “And you’re thinking about saying yes.”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking. That’s the problem.”
“Si, you hated it there. You used to come home and just sit in your car for twenty minutes because you couldn’t handle walking into your apartment with all that stress still on you.”
“I know.”
“That manager, what was his name? Victor something?”
“Sterling Vane.” Just saying the name made Sienna’s stomach tighten. Sterling Vane, head of the medical-legal division, a man who’d made her twenty-four-year-old self feel like she was constantly one mistake away from being fired or worse. “He’s probably not even there anymore. It’s been five years.”
“Probably isn’t definitely. You gonna call them tomorrow and find out?”
Sienna looked at the email still open on her laptop, at Patricia Kendall’s professional signature and the phrase “consulting opportunities” that could mean anything or nothing.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’m gonna call.”
“Then I’m coming over tonight. We’re gonna make a list of your non-negotiables so you don’t get steamrolled like last time.”
“Maya, you don’t have to—”
“Girl, hush. I’m bringing wine and that coconut cake from the bakery you like. We’re doing this right.”
After they hung up, Sienna abandoned the spice cabinet and walked to her reading chair, curling up with the blanket that smelled like lavender fabric softener and old books.
Sterling & Associates. Just the name brought back memories she’d worked hard to bury.
The constant pressure to soften her findings, to make brain injuries sound less severe than the data indicated because “we need to be mindful of litigation costs.” Sterling Vane standing over her desk at nine PM, questioning her methodology in a tone that suggested she was incompetent rather than thorough. The other consultants, mostly men, who’d made it clear that she was too young, too quiet, too female to really understand the high-stakes world of medical-legal documentation.
She’d survived it. Barely. She’d produced work she was proud of, work that had helped injured athletes get the settlements they deserved. But the cost had been panic attacks in bathroom stalls, sleepless nights second-guessing every word choice, and a growing certainty that she wasn’t built for corporate warfare.
When her contract had ended, she’d walked away and never looked back. Built her freelance career specifically to avoid ever feeling that powerless again.
And now they wanted her back.
The rational part of her brain knew it might not be the same. Five years was a long time. The management could have changed. The culture could have improved. She wasn’t the same terrified twenty-four-year-old who’d let Sterling Vane make her feel small.
But the part of her brain that still remembered hiding in the bathroom, trying to breathe through the pressure in her chest, wasn’t convinced.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother: Thinking of you, sweetheart. Call when you can. Love you.
Sienna stared at the message. Her parents had never fully understood why she’d left Sterling & Associates. She’d told them it was about wanting more flexibility, better work-life balance, the appeal of being her own boss. All true, but not the whole truth.
The whole truth was that she’d been afraid. Afraid of Sterling Vane’s condescending comments. Afraid of the moral compromise that seemed to be expected. Afraid that staying would mean becoming someone she didn’t recognize.
So she’d run. Built a life where she controlled the variables, where she worked alone, where nobody could make her feel inadequate or pressured to sacrifice her integrity for capitalism’s sake.
It was a good life. Safe. Comfortable.
Lonely.
Sienna closed her eyes and let herself admit what she’d been avoiding since Friday night. Since the wine bar when his dark brown eyes had met hers, and he looked at her like she was worth seeing.
She was tired of being safe.
She was tired of organizing spices and working alone and building a life so carefully controlled that nothing unexpected could ever touch her.
She was tired of being the person who left parties early and avoided eye contact and convinced herself that quiet was the same as content.
But she was also terrified of being the person who walked back into Sterling & Associates and let Sterling Vane, or someone like him, make her feel small again.
Her laptop was still open on the kitchen table. Sienna uncurled from the reading chair and sat down, pulling up the email from Patricia Kendall.
She read it three more times, looking for clues. “Retrospective analysis” could mean a quick phone call or a six-month project. “Consulting opportunities” could mean legitimate work or a trap designed to exploit her expertise without fair compensation.
She needed more information before she could make a decision. Which meant she needed to call Patricia back and ask direct questions, the way a confident professional would.
The way the woman she wanted to be would.
Sienna opened a new document and started typing.
Questions for Patricia Kendall – Sterling & Associates
Scope of retrospective analysis – timeline and deliverables?
Compensation structure for consulting work?
Current management structure – is Sterling Vane still head of medical-legal division?
What specific consulting opportunities are being discussed?
Expectations around timeline and availability?
Will I be working independently or as part of a team?
What safeguards exist around maintaining scientific integrity vs. litigation strategy?
She stared at the last question. That was the heart of it, wasn’t it? Whether she’d be allowed to do honest work or whether she’d be pressured to shape her findings to serve someone else’s agenda.
Her phone buzzed again. Maya: Leaving in 20. You better not be spiraling.
Sienna smiled despite herself: I’m making a list. That’s the opposite of spiraling.
Maya: That’s what you think. See you soon.
Sienna saved the document and stood, walking to her window. The Sunday afternoon light painted everything in shades of gold, and she could see families walking past, couples holding hands, people living lives that required them to be brave.
Tomorrow, she’d call Patricia. She’d ask her questions. She’d gather information.
And then she’d decide whether the woman she was trying to become was strong enough to face the world she’d run away from.
Even if it terrified her.
Especially if it terrified her.
Because maybe that was the point. Maybe growth wasn’t supposed to feel comfortable. Maybe it was supposed to feel like stepping through a door you’d kept carefully locked, not knowing what was on the other side but trusting that you were finally ready to find out.
Sienna returned to her laptop and added one more question to the list:
Why me? Why now?
She wanted to know if they remembered her work, if they valued what she’d brought to the concussion case, if they saw her as more than just a convenient resource.
She wanted to know if going back would mean being seen or being used.
And she wouldn’t know until she asked.
So tomorrow, she would ask.
And whatever happened after that, she’d face it as the woman she was becoming, not the girl she used to be.
Even if her hands shook while she dialed the number and her voice wavered when she asked the hard questions.
Even if every instinct told her to stay safe and small and hidden.
She’d ask anyway.
Because somewhere between the wine bar and this moment, Sienna had realized something important: safe wasn’t the same as enough. And she was finally ready to find out what enough might actually look like.