By the time I reached the review room, out of breath, the evaluation had already been running for fifteen minutes.
The staffer told me, expression flat.
More than ten minutes late meant automatic disqualification from this review.
Just before the end of the day, the promotion notice popped up in the company group chat:
【New Marketing Director: Bianca Whitman】
The veiled glances of the coworkers around me landed on my face.
Not long after, Blake came over to my desk and lowered his voice. "You got the short end this time. I'll make it up to you with a good project next time around."
I looked up at him. The straw from the latte I'd bought for Bianca was still sticking out of my pocket.
I lowered my head and opened the text on my phone. The Northgate recruiter had sent word that I'd passed the final interview.
I started Monday, sharp, at a salary and title far above what I had now.
In that moment there was no reluctance to leave. Only relief.
After work I went straight home. I pushed the door open, and Bianca's usual perfume still hung in the air.
I walked into the storage room to start packing, and pulled open the top cabinet without thinking.
Most of the space was crammed with fancy gift boxes and all kinds of imported snacks.
All of it from Blake to Bianca.
In a small box in the corner sat everything he'd given me in three years:
Two cheap hair ties worth a few dollars, and one alloy necklace that had lost its color.
I quietly packed up my own things.
Three years living here, and when I left, I couldn't even fill a single suitcase.
Half the motion-sensor lights in the stairwell were broken, and I dragged my suitcase down alone.
The metal corner cracked hard against my shin, and warm blood welled up at once.
I crouched down and wiped it off, quickly.
Not a single tear fell. If anything, I felt lighter all over.
Past one in the morning, Blake came back with Bianca after their movie.
The entryway was bare, every trace of me gone from the apartment.
His first instinct wasn't to look for me. He rushed straight into the second bedroom.
He went through Bianca's things one by one, checking whether anything was missing.
Only after confirming her things were all intact did he think to message me.
A red exclamation mark popped up on his screen.
He called, and a cold automated tone told him he'd been blocked.
WeChat, work chat, email, every way to reach me. I'd cut them all off.
Only then did he sense something was wrong and start contacting the people who could still reach me.
