Jobless
1731 Words
Sonya’s POV
15 Hours Earlier…
The keyboard under my fingers clacked with a familiar rhythm. Click-clack-click. The last quarterly report was almost done, all the service improvement percentage columns glowing a satisfying green. The aroma of my third coffee had long faded, replaced by the electric smell of my laptop and the stale scent of lingering diligence in this overheated office.
Five years.
The whir of the printer across the room, the quick footsteps of the marketing team’s sneakers, even my boss’s voice pitching higher during calls—they were all part of the heartbeat of my life for five years. The digital wall clock read 8:17 AM. I was the first one in, as usual, filling the office with silence before the daily chaos began.
A new email arrived. Ding.
Sender: HRD@Brightloyal.com
Subject: Urgent: Regarding Your Employment Contract.
My thumb hovered over the trackpad. Five years. I remembered all the unpaid overtime I’d signed off on with a smile. The vacations I’d sacrificed for sudden deadlines. Even last year, running a high fever, I’d worked remotely, my voice hoarse as I led a conference call. I never said no, never complained. I was the most reliable cog in this team’s machine. Maybe… this was about a permanent position? A promotion?
I held my breath for a second. Then I clicked.
To: Ms. Sonya,
Respectfully,
In line with new strategic policies and a comprehensive corporate restructuring aimed at enhancing operational efficiency and long-term vision alignment, we regret to inform you that your position as Customer Service Specialist (Contract) will not be renewed upon the expiry of your contract at the end of this month.
This decision in no way reflects the quality of your work or dedication. We highly value the contributions you have made over the past five years.
For further administrative processes regarding your final settlement and company asset returns, please contact the HR officer listed below.
We thank you for your service and cooperation.
Sincerely,
Human Resources Department
Click-clack-click.
The sound of keyboards around me suddenly seemed deafeningly loud.
I stared at the screen. The words were clear, cold, and neatly arranged in perfect grammar. A soulless machine must have written them. Restructuring. Operational efficiency. Long-term vision. Big, empty words. Words that erased five years of my life without a trace.
I read it again. Slowly.
…will not be renewed…
…highly value the contributions…
…final settlement…
My eyes fixed on the word ‘settlement’. It sounded like a transaction. Like I was an old, incompatible printer, and they were giving me a payout before tossing me into the scrap heap.
My body turned cold. Even though the heater was blasting. But this was a different cold. It crept from my fingertips, up my spine, and froze something deep in my chest.
Five years. First to arrive, last to leave. Even when my mother in my hometown was sick, I only took one day off, then worked via video call from her bedside. I knew I was on contract, so I worked twice as hard. I thought loyalty and dedication were a currency I could trade for security.
Turns out, I was wrong. That currency was suddenly worthless. The ‘restructuring’ policy was a godzilla that stomped all over it without needing to see whose face it was crushing.
My colleague, Emilda, glanced over. "Sonya, what’s wrong? You’re pale."
I tried to speak. No sound came out. I just turned my laptop screen toward her. Her eyes widened as she skimmed the email. "Oh my god…is this for real?! But… you’re the backbone of our team!"
That was the problem, perhaps. I was just a backbone, not a face. Not part of the ‘long-term vision’. I could be replaced by automation, cheaper outsourcing, or a new position with a fancier title.
My boss, Mr. Albert, walked out of his office with a coffee mug. He passed my desk, giving me his usual curt nod—the same nod I’d received every morning for five years. Today, that nod felt like the final nail in a coffin.
I stared at him. Did he already know? Of course. He must have signed off on this ‘Restructuring’. In his eyes, I was probably just a number on a spreadsheet. Contract labor cost reduction: 1 person. Efficiency achieved.
I closed my eyes. The image of Liam and Thomas in the hallway yesterday, the mocking Christmas wreath, suddenly flickered and merged with the cold letters of this email. The world seemed to whisper: You can be disposed of anytime. In any way. And the world will keep turning.
Tears? No. I’d run out last night, buried them under the puddle of eggs and flour on my kitchen floor. What bubbled up now was something deeper, darker: The bitter realization that obedience and sacrifice meant absolutely nothing.
With strangely steady hands, I replied to the email.
"Noted. Thank you for the information. I will coordinate for the next steps."
I hit send.
Five years. Ended with three polite, hollow sentences.
I shut down my laptop. Gathered my favorite coffee mug, the small plant on my desk, and the coat always hanging on my chair. Those items suddenly felt so insignificant, too little to represent something called "five years".
I stood up. My chair, molded to the shape of my body, looked lonely. I walked out, past desks of colleagues still busy in their own worlds. Some gave me curious looks. I just nodded.
The sky outside the window was a startlingly vivid blue. I’d never noticed.
Maybe this ‘restructuring’ wasn’t an end. Maybe it was a forced eviction from a prison I’d mistaken for a castle. I didn’t know.
All I knew was, for the first time in five years, I was going home before 10 AM. And for the second time in two days, my world had crumbled.
My steps halted in the building lobby. The December cold slapped my face, but the tightness in my chest was far more frozen. I stood still, hugging the cardboard box containing five years of my life, until a tap on my shoulder made me flinch.
"Sonya! Wait up!"
It was Emilda. She jogged over, slightly out of breath, her face still flushed from the earlier panic. "Are you crazy, just leaving like that? Mr. Albert was just standing there stunned when you walked out."
"What was I supposed to do, Emilda? Grovel at his feet begging for a contract renewal?" I gave a bitter smile. "I need fresh air for my spectacularly crappy day. I need space to think clearly."
Emilda fell silent, then pulled me into a quieter corner of the lobby. She glanced around as if about to leak state secrets.
"Sonya, listen to me. This might sound insane, and honestly I was hesitant to even mention it because… well, it’s weird. But you need an escape, right?"
I stared flatly at her. "I need a miracle, not an escape."
"What if I give you both?" Emilda pulled out her phone, swiped quickly, and showed me the screen. "My cousin works for a private headhunting agency. Not for corporates, but for old-money families in Europe. She messaged me this morning asking if I knew any ‘clean’ candidates for a caregiver or personal assistant role—no family attachments, ready to leave immediately without drama. I remembered you have your Basic Life Support certificate."
My eyes locked onto her phone screen. No company logo. Just a name written in an elegant gold font: Nightingale Home Care.
"Bansko, Bulgaria?" I read slowly. "That’s a tourist ski town, right?"
"Yeah, but this is for a private villa on the slopes of the Pirin Mountains. One job: caring for a private patient in ‘extended recovery’. The salary…" Emilda whispered, a figure that made my heart stop for a second.
That wasn’t a salary. It was a ransom for a year of my life. Enough to pay off all of Liam’s debts, buy a new apartment, and still have leftovers for a European shopping spree.
"Why is the pay so insane?" I asked, suspicion coiling in my gut. "What’s wrong with the patient? Is it contagious? Is he dangerous?"
Emilda shrugged. "My cousin just said: The patient is very stable, but very secretive. You’ll live in a luxury villa, eat gourmet food, but you can’t leave the villa grounds without permission from the head steward there. The minimum contract is six months."
I stared at the attached photo of the villa on Emilda’s phone. A magnificent structure of stone and wood, standing alone amidst a sea of snow-covered pine forests. It looked breathtakingly beautiful, but also profoundly… isolated. Silent.
Perfect for someone who wanted to die to her old world, like me.
I looked at the box in my hands. It only held a mug, a wilted plant, and an old jacket. In my apartment, all that waited was the ghost of Liam kissing another man and a mountain of final notices.
The world had fired me via ‘restructuring’. Liam had discarded me as a ‘backup plan’. If I stayed here, I’d just be a corpse slowly rotting.
"Send me the full info," I said, my voice no longer shaking. "I’ll think about it. Maybe it’s the universe handing me an Exit sign."
Emilda looked at me doubtfully. "You’re seriously considering this, Sonya? You don’t even know what the patient is like."
I looked at my reflection in the lobby glass. The shattered face of a woman with nothing left to lose.
"How bad can the patient be, Em? He’s just a sick person, right?" I let out a short, hollow laugh that sounded foreign even to me. "I’m more afraid of healthy people who wake up and betray you, than of a sick person who genuinely needs care."
“Okay, I sent it. I gotta run back before Mr. Albert notices I’m gone. Good luck, Sonya!” Emilda shot me a meaningful look before hurrying back into the building.
This time, standing amidst the rubble, what remained wasn’t Sonya the "backup plan" or Sonya the "dedicated employee." All that was left was an emptiness, but strangely… it felt lighter. Like someone had finally cut all the ropes that were holding her down, even if they’d had to blow up the ground she was standing on to do it.
- Writer
