The First Fall
Ethan's laughter drifted through the backyard as Daniel sat hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table. His business plan lay open beside him, pages covered in notes and coffee stains. The hum of possibility filled the air, but beneath it was a tight coil of fear.
It had been three weeks since his meeting at the bank. And the loan had finally came through—smaller than he'd hoped, but enough to start. Enough to take the risk.
Now he had a name: CrossLogix.
A small office rented downtown. A single delivery van leased from a friend. A clunky but functional website that connected local vendors to customers looking for quick deliveries.
It wasn't an empire. Not yet. But it was something.
The first week of CrossLogix had been a blur of excitement. Daniel worked from dawn until long past midnight, fueled by adrenaline and too much coffee. For the first time since the divorce, he felt alive.
But excitement wasn't enough to run a business.
By day five, the cracks began to show.
⸻
It started with the website. A handful of local vendors had signed up after Daniel pitched them personally—craft shops, bakeries, and a small bookstore. But when customers tried to place orders, the site buckled under the traffic. One woman messaged him directly:
"I've been trying to buy a set of candles for twenty minutes. If this is how you run things, I'll go to Amazon instead."
Daniel typed and deleted his reply three times before sending a polite apology and a desperate promise to fix it.
That night, he stayed up until 2 a.m. watching tutorials on web hosting and patching bugs himself. He wasn't a developer, but hiring one was out of the question. Money was already bleeding faster than he'd planned.
⸻
The next blow came from the delivery van.
Mid-route on a hot Wednesday afternoon, the engine overheated. Daniel pulled to the side of the road, steam billowing from the hood. His phone buzzed with back-to-back vendor calls.
"Mr. Cross, the bread was supposed to be delivered an hour ago!"
"These books were meant for a signing event tonight. Where are they?"
He gritted his teeth, pressing the phone against his ear while trying not to curse in front of passing pedestrians. "I'm on it. I'll fix this."
But there was no fixing it—not quickly, anyway. He spent the afternoon waiting for a tow truck, late orders piling up. By the time he got home, his son was already asleep, his untouched dinner cold on the table.
He stood there for a long time, staring at the plate of macaroni and cheese, guilt eating away at him more than hunger.
⸻
The following day, an email hit like a hammer:
CrossLogix,
My bakery's reputation depends on quality. The cupcakes you delivered yesterday were crushed in their boxes. I can't risk working with you again.
Daniel's hand shook as he reread the message. Losing one vendor might not sound like much, but when you only had three, it was devastating.
He slumped into the chair, running his fingers through his hair. Every failure felt heavier because he knew it wasn't just about him—it was about Ethan.
The notebook lay open on the table beside him. His father's neat handwriting seemed to mock him now. Principle 3: Systems will fail before they succeed. Failure is data. Adjust and repeat.
Daniel whispered under his breath, "Adjust and repeat. Adjust and repeat." But the words felt hollow when the bills stacked on his desk were demanding numbers he didn't have.
⸻
Saturday morning arrived like a storm cloud.
Ethan padded into the kitchen to find him still sitting at the table, eyes ringed with fatigue.
"Daddy?" Evan asked, tugging at his sleeve. "You look so sick."
"No," Daniel said, forcing a weak smile. "Just tired."
Ethan slid into the chair opposite him, studying the mess of receipts and papers. He was quiet for a long time before asking, "Is work hard for you?"
Daniel's throat tightened. For a moment, he considered lying—to protect him, to shield him from the stress. But then he remembered the vow he'd made: honesty, no matter how hard.
"It's a little hard right now," he admitted softly. "But that's how businesses go sometimes. You try, you fail, you fix it, and you try again."
Ethan's small, serious face didn't waver. "Then you just have to keep trying."
Daniel stared at his son, humbled. Simple words, but true. Failure wasn't the end—it was the beginning of learning.
He ruffled Ethan's hair, "You're right. We'll keep trying. Together."
⸻
That night, after tucking Ethan into bed, Daniel returned to the table. He drew up a new plan: better packaging for fragile goods, stricter schedules for deliveries, and a desperate note to look for part-time help—even if he couldn't really afford it.
Exhaustion clung to him, but underneath it, there was still a spark. His father's notebook sat open beside him, and this time, the words didn't feel mocking. They felt like a challenge.
Daniel whispered, "I'm not done yet."
What he didn't know was that the next week, while scrambling to keep CrossLogix alive, a chance encounter with a woman named Elizabeth Torez would turn the tide—someone who would see not just his failures, but his fight.
And for the first time, Daniel's battle wouldn't be his alone.