Athena Technologies was officially established. I became founder and CEO, Sarah our CTO, and Amy our lead engineer.

Three women. Three dreams. One mission.


We rented a proper office—small, still in SOMA, but ours.

The first month was brutal. We worked eighty-hour weeks, sometimes more.

But know what the biggest difference was?


No one stole our credit. No one claimed our achievements. No one told us to shut up.

We were building something truly ours.


That alone made all the difference.

When we launched, Sarah cried, Amy laughed, and I felt strangely numb.

Don't misunderstand—I was simply in disbelief that this was actually happening.

"We did it," Sarah said. "We really did it."

"It's not over yet," I cautioned myself. "Now we need customers to validate us."

Building a customer base proved harder than building the product.

No one wanted to be first.

We approached over fifty companies. Five responded. Three agreed to meet.

I handled the first negotiation myself—a mid-sized e-commerce company whose engineering director was a forty-year-old woman.

She gave me thirty minutes for a demo.

After the demo, she was silent for a moment. "Your former company contacted us last week. They wanted to sell us their enterprise plan. Know what I told them?"

"What?"

"I said I heard they lost their best engineer, their product's been unstable since you left, and I wanted to see what you'd build next."

As she spoke, she signed the contract. I was still in a daze when I left the meeting.

The second and third clients signed within two weeks—both former customers of my old employer who'd jumped ship.

Word spread quickly through tech circles.

"There's a new recommendation engine built by that female engineer who left to start her own company. It works way better."

As our profits began to surge, I received an email from David.

Subject line: "Emma."

The body was lengthy.

"I see you're gaining clients. Congratulations."

"I'm reaching out because I feel there may have been misunderstandings. I've always valued your contributions, and if that wasn't clearly expressed, I apologize."

"Would you be willing to talk? Perhaps we could find a way to collaborate again."

I sat at my desk, read the email twice, and laughed until tears streamed down my face.

Sarah glanced over. "What's so funny?"

"David wants to 'collaborate' with us."

She snorted. "A dog coming to lick our boots. How did you respond?"

I closed the email.

"I didn't. He still doesn't think he did anything wrong. I won't waste another second on him."

Some people don't deserve your reply. They don't even deserve your attention.