The next morning, news of my termination agreement spread through the company faster than any official announcement ever had.
By ten o’clock, Shane called me three times.
I rejected all three.
At ten fifteen, he sent a message.
Mia, please tell me this is fake. People are saying you really left.
I looked at the screen for a while before replying.
It’s true.
For a full minute, the typing indicator appeared and disappeared.
Finally, Shane sent a voice message.
I did not open it.
I could already imagine his tone. Shock first. Then indignation. Then sadness hidden clumsily beneath jokes.
A few minutes later, another message came through.
Your seat is still empty.
My fingers tightened around the phone. Years of my life had been folded into that desk.
After a while, I wrote, I’ll c
