I almost didn’t go.

Sat in my apartment for an hour that night, shoes on, jacket over the back of a chair, staring at nothing. The invitation had come through Sam, not Jordan. A flyer for the reopening, passed along casually, the way you share a restaurant recommendation. No message attached. No indication that Jordan wanted me there or knew I’d see it.

But the branding was mine. The logo on the poster, the warmth of the color palette, the way the text sat on the page like it was breathing. I’d made that. It existed in the world now, attached to a place I’d helped build, and something in...