Episode Thirteen
1293 Words
Chapter 13
Better Than Hers
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Charles stood before me, his breath slightly uneven, his expression dark with a confusion he had no patience for.
I looked at him and suddenly felt exhausted.
Deeply.
Completely.
The kind of exhaustion sleep could not fix.
Still, I smiled in the same businesslike way I always had.
“Dakota doesn’t seem to handle alcohol well,” I said. “If she drinks on your behalf in the future, it may cause trouble.”
Charles frowned.
“Why would she drink on my behalf?”
His tone was impatient.
Almost offended.
Then he added, “Aren’t you still here?”
For a moment, I simply looked at him.
He still thought I was not leaving.
Or perhaps he thought leaving was only a mood.
A small rebellion.
Something he could correct with enough pressure.
I lowered my gaze to the resignation letter beside his hand.
Charles followed my eyes.
The next moment, he swept the papers off the desk.
They scattered through the air and landed near my feet.
The sound was soft.
Almost elegant.
His face had gone cold again.
“I don’t agree,” he said. “And I don’t think what you said qualifies as a reason to resign.”
I was not surprised.
Charles had once told me himself.
I was the most efficient person he had ever worked with.
Replacing me would take time, effort, and energy.
Of course he would not let me go easily.
Still, even though I had prepared myself for it, even though I had promised myself not to expect anything, it hurt.
I had thought that after all these years, Charles might care for me a little.
But the truth was simpler.
He did not want to lose a useful person.
That was all.
I bent down and picked up the resignation papers from the floor.
One by one.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Then I placed them neatly back on his desk.
“If you won’t approve it, we can follow company policy instead. I’ll send a copy to HR and begin the formal notice process.”
Charles’s eyes darkened.
“Mia.”
I gave him the professional smile I had practised for years.
“I’ve completed most of the handover. Dakota has the West City files. Shane has the department contact list. The client schedules are updated through the end of the month. If you still feel dissatisfied, I’m willing to accept any additional terms you want to add to the non-compete clause.”
It did not matter.
I was not planning to work again immediately anyway.
Charles said nothing.
His gaze remained fixed on me, dark and intense.
Ironically, he had calmed down.
Or perhaps he was only suppressing his anger better.
The veins on the back of his hand stood out as he braced it against the desk.
For a moment, we stood there in silence.
The scarf.
The project.
The coffee.
The marriage excuse.
The years between us.
Everything had been placed on the desk, and still he looked at me as if the problem was that I had failed to explain myself clearly enough.
I no longer had the patience to stay.
Just as I turned to leave, there was a knock at the door.
Dakota entered carefully with a cup of coffee in her hands.
Instant coffee again.
I glanced at her but said nothing.
When I reached the door, her cautious voice floated from behind me.
“Mia always said you wouldn’t like my coffee,” Dakota said softly. “I’ve been practising in private. I wonder what you think now, Mr Yale?”
Her voice carried a note of hopeful anticipation.
A moment later, Charles replied.
“Really?”
His voice was cold.
Mocking.
Even without turning around, I could feel the fury in his gaze pinned to my back.
“I think it’s much better than hers.”
Dakota’s voice instantly brightened.
“Really? Actually, I think I…”
I did not hear the rest.
Because the moment I saw Charles, who had always been impossibly particular, drink her instant coffee without the slightest change in expression, I had already found my answer.
The scarf.
The project.
The coffee.
And me.
In the end, all of it had been pretty meaningless.
That was what I thought.
Outside Charles’s office, the president’s floor was bright and busy.
Phones rang.
Printers hummed.
People glanced up and then quickly looked away, sensing weather without seeing the storm.
Shane rose halfway from his seat when he saw me.
“Mia?”
“I’m fine.”
The lie came easily.
Years of training did not vanish overnight.
I returned to my desk and opened the handover checklist.
There were still tasks to complete.
Passwords to transfer.
Files to organise.
Calendars to tidy.
A life to dismantle in a way that caused no inconvenience to the person who had lived inside it with me and never noticed its walls.
My inbox refreshed.
A message from HR appeared at the top.
Resignation process and notice requirements.
I opened it.
Read it.
Downloaded the forms.
Then, without looking back at Charles’s office, I began.
By noon, half the floor knew.
Of course they did.
Offices were never as discreet as people pretended. News did not travel in straight lines. It seeped beneath doors, slipped through pantry conversations, hid inside lowered voices and sudden silences.
When I walked to the printer, two assistants from Marketing stopped talking.
When I entered the pantry, someone left too quickly.
When I returned to my desk, Shane was standing there with a cup of tea I had not asked for.
He placed it beside my keyboard.
“You didn’t eat lunch,” he said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
I looked at him.
Shane usually made jokes when something was serious. It was his way of putting cushions around sharp edges. But now his face was unusually still.
“You really resigned?”
“Yes.”
His throat moved.
“Does he know?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He didn’t approve it.”
Shane let out a short laugh without humour.
“Of course he didn’t.”
I picked up the tea and held it between my palms.
It was too hot.
Strangely, the heat helped.
“HR knows now,” I said. “That’s enough.”
Shane glanced towards Charles’s office.
The door had been closed since I left.
No one had gone in.
Not even Dakota.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I smiled.
“You already know the answer.”
“I know what you’ll say. That’s different.”
For a moment, I did not speak.
Outside the window, the city moved on with its usual indifference. Cars slid between buildings. Pedestrians waited at crossings. Somewhere far below, people bought coffee they actually wanted and complained about ordinary things.
“I thought I would feel worse,” I said finally.
Shane looked at me carefully.
“And?”
“I don’t.”
That was not entirely true.
There was pain.
There would probably be more later, when the day ended and I was alone somewhere quiet enough for memory to start knocking.
But beneath it, there was something else.
Space.
Small and unfamiliar.
Like a window opened in a room I had not realised was airless.
Shane nodded slowly.
“Good.”
I looked at him.
He cleared his throat and returned to his usual tone with obvious effort.
“I mean, terrible for the company. Obviously. We may all collapse within forty-eight hours. I’ll start rationing printer paper.”
Despite myself, I laughed softly.
It was small.
But it was real.
- Writer
