Thursday arrived with rain.
Emma woke to the sound of water against her window, steady and relentless. She lay in bed for a while, listening, watching the gray light shift across her ceiling. The sweater — Nick's sweater — was tangled around her legs. She pulled it closer.
At 9:00 AM, her phone buzzed.
Olivia: Dinner tonight. My place. 7 PM. Don't be late.
Emma: I'm never late.
Olivia: You're always late. You have a problem.
Emma: I have a boss who kept me late for nine years.
Olivia: You don't have a boss anymore.
Emma stared at the words.
You don't have a boss anymore.
She didn't.
She had never not had a boss. Not since she was twenty-two years old, fresh out of college, desperate for a job. Nine years of answering to someone else. Nine years of being needed.
Now she was free
