“Need this by tomorrow morning,” he’d say, dropping files onto my keyboard. Then he’d lean in close enough that I could smell his cologne. “With your situation, Maya, you should be more grateful for the opportunity to prove yourself.”
My situation. He’d somehow found out about Mom. Probably overheard me on the phone or saw something in my HR file he shouldn’t have accessed.
“Of course,” I’d say quietly, unpacking my bag again, knowing I wouldn’t get home until midnight. Knowing Mom would be asleep and I’d miss another evening with her.
Then came the Monday that broke something inside me.
Daniel called me into his office and closed the door. My heart hammered as he gestured to the chair across from his desk.
“Sit.”
I sat.
He picked up a report I’d submitted. He flipped through it slowly, his face a mask of disgust.
“This is garbage, Maya.” He tossed it onto the desk. “There’s a typo on page seven. A typo. Do you know how that makes this entire department look?”
“I can fix it right now—”
“You’re lucky anyone hired someone as stupid as you,” he continued. “With those gaps in your resume, taking time off to play nurse, no one’s going to touch you if you leave here. You’re unemployable. Do you understand that?”
I gripped the arms of the chair, willing myself not to cry.
“Maybe,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a cruel smile, “you should focus less on your mother’s drama and more on your job. Ever think about that?”
Everything stopped. The room. My breath. Time itself.
Your mother’s drama.
He’d called my mother’s cancer drama. He’d reduced her fight for life, her suffering, her courage, to drama.
At that point, something in me snapped.
“Excuse me?” My voice came out steady.
Daniel was surprised.
“You heard me,” he said, but uncertainty flickered across his face.
I stood up slowly, my hands surprisingly steady now. “I heard you. Just wanted to make sure.”
I walked out of his office, closing the door carefully behind me. I made it to my desk, logged out of my computer, and grabbed my purse.
Then I went straight to Pilates.
That night, Anna arrived 15 minutes late, her eyes red and swollen. She went through the class mechanically, none of her usual energy present.
In the locker room afterward, she sat on the bench and let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“He’s so distant lately,” she said quietly, staring at her hands. “Always at late meetings. Never home for dinner anymore. Sometimes he doesn’t even look at me.” She turned to me suddenly. “You work with him, Maya. Tell me I’m crazy. Tell me I’m imagining things.”
For Complete Cooking STEPS Please Head On Over To Next Page Or Open button (>) and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
