Chapter 4

The first few years in Silicon Valley were a blur of relentless work. I poured everything I had into NovaSynthetics. Long days, longer nights. It felt familiar, like the early days with GenLife, but this time, it was mine. The successes, the failures, the stress – it all belonged to me.

There was a clean, sharp satisfaction in building something from the ground up, answering to no one but my own vision. My team was small, brilliant, and dedicated. We were outsiders, hungry and driven.

I didn' t date. I didn' t have time or energy. The wounds from Mark were still too raw, Ben' s alienation a constant ache in my heart. I sent him letters, gifts for birthdays and holidays, all routed through lawyers. I never knew if he received them. There was never a reply.

I focused on NovaSynthetics. We hit milestones. Secured Series A funding from a sharp, insightful venture capitalist named Daniel Ashford.

He saw the potential in my work, in me. He didn' t just see the science; he saw the passion, the resilience. He became a mentor, then a friend.

The news from Boston trickled in, mostly through industry gossip or mutual acquaintances I couldn' t entirely avoid. GenLife was doing well, but there were rumors of internal struggles.

Mark, apparently, wasn't the visionary leader everyone thought. Cassandra was a charming public face, but lacked substance.

I heard she was pushing for more control, leveraging her Winthrop connections. The company culture, once collaborative and innovative (a culture I had helped build, ironically), was becoming more political, more cutthroat.

I tried not to care. I had my own battles to fight, my own company to build.

But sometimes, late at night, staring at lines of code, I' d remember. Mark, before Cassandra, before the success. The hopeful young scientist, full of dreams. The man I' d loved, the man I' d believed in.

I remembered the day I told him about my inheritance. My adoptive parents had worked hard their whole lives, saved diligently. It wasn' t a fortune, but it was enough. "Use it, Mark," I' d said. "Make GenLife happen."

His eyes had lit up. "Are you sure, Sarah? This is everything you have."

"I'm sure," I' d replied, smiling. "I believe in you."

He' d hugged me then, tight. "I won't let you down."

A bitter laugh escaped me now, alone in my brightly lit office. He had. In every way a man could let down a woman.

Cassandra had been there, even then, a shadow in the background. She' d briefly dated Mark in college. When his first major research project hit a funding wall, she' d vanished, deeming him a bad investment. She reappeared years later, when GenLife was starting to make waves, her interest suddenly rekindled.

Mark, flattered by her attention, blinded by her charm and the Winthrop name, welcomed her back with open arms. He seemed to forget her earlier dismissal, or perhaps he rewrote that history to fit his narrative.

My contributions, my sacrifices, became inconvenient truths, then faded into forgotten details. He needed to believe he' d done it all himself, with Cassandra as his muse. My seed money, my late-night coding sessions, my unwavering support – they didn't fit that picture.

The divorce papers had been signed in a sterile lawyer's office. Mark had looked at me, a strange expression on his face. Not anger, not sadness. Something unreadable. He hadn' t said a word.

I signed my name, the ink a definitive black line under eight years of my life. It was over. The pain was still there, a dull throb, but a sense of finality, of release, was beginning to bloom.