“Emily?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Why?”
She lowered her voice.
“People are saying there may be layoffs.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who said that?”
“No one knows.”
“What kind of layoffs?”
She shrugged.
“Management.”
I forced a smile.
“Don't worry about rumors.”
But when she left, I couldn't stop thinking about them.
The company had been struggling.
Revenue had fallen.
Two departments had already been reduced.
Three employees had been let go during the previous month.
And suddenly there was a folder with my name on it.
An attorney was involved.
Richard was acting strangely.
And he had asked me to meet him alone on Friday.
I began to put the pieces together.
They didn't form a picture I wanted to see.
That night, I barely slept.
I stared at the ceiling until two in the morning.
Then three.
Then four.
I thought about my mother's medication.
My brother's tuition.
The mortgage.
The bills.
The years I had spent building my career.
What would I tell everyone?
How would I find another job?
Would another company even hire someone whose entire professional identity had been built around one executive?
At 5:17 a.m., I finally whispered to myself:
“Maybe it's time to start over.”
Thursday morning, I updated my résumé.
I hated myself for doing it.
But fear has a way of making you practical.
I sent it to three companies.
Then five.
Then I stopped.
I couldn't bring myself to send another.
That afternoon, I walked into Richard's office.
He was reviewing documents.
“Mr. Bennett?”
He looked up.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
He removed his glasses.
“Of course.”
“Is there something I should know?”
His eyes remained on mine.
For a second, I thought he might tell me everything.
Instead, he said:
“Not now.”
My heart sank.
“Not now?”
“Tomorrow.”
I stared at him.
“Tomorrow what?”
He picked up his pen.
“Go home, Emily.”
I didn't move.
“Did I do something wrong?”
His expression softened slightly.
“No.”
“Then why does everyone seem to know something except me?”
He didn't answer.
“Please,” I said quietly. “If I'm being fired, I'd rather know.”
Richard looked at me for several seconds.
Then he said:
“Tomorrow.”
That was all.
I left his office with tears burning behind my eyes.
That night, I packed a small box in my mind.
Not a physical box.
An emotional one.
I imagined clearing my desk.
Taking down the photograph of my mother.
Removing the little plant Richard had given me on my fifth anniversary.
Returning my office keys.
Handing over my access card.
Walking out of the building for the last time.
I imagined everyone watching.
I imagined myself pretending to be strong.
And for the first time in seven years, I wondered whether Richard had ever truly valued me.
Friday came.
At 3:55 p.m., I went downstairs.
Richard was waiting near the entrance.
But something was different.
He wasn't wearing a tie.
His suit jacket was open.
His silver hair was slightly messy.
He looked older than I had ever seen him.
“Come on,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere nearby.”
We walked.
Neither of us spoke.
Ten minutes later, we reached a quiet park.
There were children playing near a fountain.
An elderly couple walked slowly along a path.
A dog chased a fallen leaf.
Everything looked painfully ordinary.
Richard led me to a bench.
He sat down.
I remained standing.
“Have a seat, Emily.”
I sat.
My hands were freezing.
I looked at him.
“If you're firing me, please just tell me.”
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he looked toward the trees.
Then he said:
“All right.”
He turned to me.
“As of today, you don't work for me anymore.”
My heart stopped.
Even though I had expected it.
Even though I had spent the entire week preparing myself.
Hearing the words still felt like being pushed off a cliff.
I looked down at my hands.
“May I ask why?”
“Because I've reached my decision.”
“Did I make a mistake?”
“No.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Richard clasped his hands.
“Because things are changing.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So I was right.”
“About what?”
“The layoffs.”
He shook his head.
“Not exactly.”