TANISHA
I’d stood there mute, while he talked at me, not to me, his voice filling the room, steamrolling over whatever fight I’d had left. When he finished, it became clear he wasn’t pausing for a response, my resolve had already cracked.
I hadn’t quit, I’d been dismissed. There was something humiliating about that, being erased before you even got to declare yourself done. Like being shoved off a stage before you could take your bow.
Months of resentment sat heavy in my throat, unsaid. All those carefully curated comebacks, wasted. I hadn’t even managed a sarcastic one-liner. Just an “okay.” Pathetic. I should’ve fought back.
I should’ve said something when he kept talking, when his voice rolled on about professionalism, standards, expectations. I barely heard the words. They blurre
