Claire’s POV
I swear I blinked, and my whole life fell apart.
It was Thursday morning when it finally snapped. I was sitting at my desk, the hum of fluorescent lights above me digging into my skull like tiny knives. My boss, Mr. Hawkins—fifty, balding, always smelling faintly of stale coffee—was giving me that look. The one that said, Claire, you’re not good enough. Claire, you’re replaceable.
“Claire,” he started, his voice sharp like paper tearing, “this just isn’t working out. We’ve given you enough chances.”
I’d heard the rumors in the office for weeks. Cutbacks. Layoffs. But I thought maybe—just maybe—my name wouldn’t be on the chopping block. I thought all those late nights, all those forced smiles, all the swallowing of pride every time someone dumped extra work on me… I thought
