The workday ended abruptly, much quieter than usual. The music that usually filled the office was gone, as were the lively conversations that creative teams typically had. It was just a silence of uncertainty that gnawed at my conscience. I had started this business to provide a safe haven for creatives so they could feel they belonged and that their talents were valued. Now, all that remained was a bittersweet mix of what would happen and what could and couldn't be.
Back home, the apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. For the first time in days, there were no meetings, no anonymous messages, no voices demanding answers. Just me, a stack of boxes, and the sound of tape closing another.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through clothes I hadn't worn in years. Some items went into
