"What is this, Nora?" Elliott asked.
He tapped his expensive fountain pen against the mahogany desk, staring at the thick manila folder trapped beneath my fingertips.
"Your future," I replied.
He scoffed, leaning back in his leather chair. "More transition paperwork? I already told you, Jade is handling the major accounts now. You need to let this go."
"It has nothing to do with the accounts."
"Then what is it?" he demanded. "HR complaints? A list of demands? Because I'm not authorizing severance if you're quitting voluntarily."
"I don't want your money, Elliott."
My fingers pressed hard into the cardboard cover. I watched his eyes dart to my hand. He waited for me to flip the cover open. He wanted a fight. He expected me to yell, to beg, to remind him of everything I had sacrificed for this firm. He wanted me to be the hysterical ex-wife he could easily dismiss.
Instead, I lifted my hand.
I stepped back from the desk, leaving the folder resting right on top of his pale blue wedding sticky note.
"Aren't you going to show me what's so important?" he asked, his voice rising, annoyed by my calm demeanor.
"You know how to read, Elliott."
"I have three meetings before noon, Nora. I don't have time for your games. Just tell me what it is."
"You'll make time."
I turned toward the glass door.
"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!" he barked.
I didn't stop. I pushed through the heavy glass door and let it swing shut behind me, cutting off his voice. The hallway was empty. Caleb was gone from the conference room, probably already bragging to his friends about his father's new favorite.
My cubicle sat three floors down. The space felt entirely too small to contain five years of my life. I pulled a flattened cardboard box from behind the filing cabinet and popped it open, taping the bottom shut with sharp, tearing sounds.
I started with the surface. Framed photos of Caleb when he was younger, before the resentment set in. A customized mug. A handful of favorite pens. I tossed them into the box without wrapping them.
Then, the drawers.
The top two were easy. I dumped office supplies and old client notes straight into the trash can. The bottom drawer always stuck. I grabbed the handle and gave it a hard yank. The metal screeched in protest before giving way, nearly flying off the tracks.
It was empty, except for a small, yellowed slip of paper wedged in the far back corner.
I reached in and pulled it out.
A cashier's check stub.
The faded ink displayed a date from exactly five years ago. Next to it, the printed amount: $2,000,000.
I dragged my thumb over the raised zeros. Two apartments. My entire safety net, liquidated in a single afternoon. I remembered slipping the actual check into the inner pocket of Elliott's suit jacket while he cried in his office, terrified the company was going under.
"We'll rebuild together," he had promised me that night, holding my hands. "I'll never forget this, Nora."
He forgot.
Now, he sat in a corner office planning a wedding. And I was packing a cardboard box in a dusty cubicle.
"You always were a fast packer."
I didn't look up. Jade leaned against the fabric wall of my cubicle, holding a fresh cup of coffee. She wore a tailored white blazer that looked suspiciously like the one I had recommended she buy for her first big pitch.
"Did Elliott send you to supervise?" I asked, dropping a stapler into my box.
"He asked me to make sure you didn't accidentally take any proprietary files," she said. She took a slow sip from her cup. "And to give you a heads up. HR is cutting your building access on Friday at five."
"I'll be out of here in ten minutes."
"Good. Clean breaks are best." Jade stepped further into my space, her eyes scanning my desk. "It's a shame about the government contract, Nora. But you have to admit, my presentation style is just a bit more modern. The clients responded to my energy."
"Your presentation style is exactly what I taught you."
Jade laughed, a high, thin sound that grated on my nerves. "Don't be bitter. You had a good run. But the firm needs fresh blood. You can't hold onto the past forever."
Her gaze landed on the corkboard pinned to my cubicle wall. She reached out and unpinned a small, plastic rectangle.
It was her first employee ID badge.
I had printed it for her myself three years ago, staying late to make sure she had it ready for her first morning as an intern. I even bought the lanyard out of my own pocket so she would feel welcome.
"Wow," Jade murmured, twirling the badge by its lanyard. "Look at this relic."
"Put it down, Jade."
"Why? Are you taking it with you for the memories?" She held the plastic card up to the fluorescent light. "The picture is terrible. And the title says 'Assistant'. I can't believe I ever settled for that."
"It's a reminder of where you started."
"I don't need reminders."
Jade turned toward the heavy-duty paper shredder sitting next to the printer station. She flicked the power switch. The machine hummed to life, a low, vibrating growl.
"What are you doing?" I asked, stepping forward.
"Cleaning up."
She dropped the ID badge into the feed slot.
The shredder grabbed the plastic. It screeched, the metal gears grinding against the hard material, tearing the badge and the lanyard into jagged little pieces. The noise was deafening in the quiet office.
I stopped moving. I just watched the plastic disappear into the collection bin. The girl I had mentored, the career I had built, the money I had sacrificed—all of it chewed up and spit out as trash.
She expected me to yell. She wanted a reaction, just like Elliott did. She wanted me to prove I was the unstable, bitter older woman they had painted me as.
I looked from the shredder back to Jade. Her smug expression faltered slightly under my absolute silence. My jaw tightened, then relaxed.
"You missed a piece," I said, pointing to a tiny scrap of white plastic on the carpet.
Jade frowned, her eyes darting to the floor.
While she looked down, I folded the two-million-dollar check stub in half. I slid it into the inner pocket of my jacket, pressing it flat against my chest. The paper felt heavy against my ribs, a silent promise to myself.
"I'll leave the trash for the janitor," I told her.
I picked up my cardboard box. It was surprisingly light.
"You're really just leaving?" Jade asked, stepping out of my way. "No goodbye speech? No final words of wisdom?"
"I already left my goodbye on Elliott's desk."
I walked past her, heading straight for the elevator banks. I didn't look back at the cubicle, the shredder, or the woman wearing my advice like a shield.
The elevator doors slid open. I stepped inside and hit the lobby button with my knuckle.
The metal doors closed, sealing me in the quiet, mirrored box. The descent began, leaving a hollow feeling in my stomach.
Five years. Two million dollars. My blood, my time, my entire life poured into a company and a man who had just replaced me without a second thought. And my son, recording my downfall for a quick laugh.
My phone vibrated in my palm.
I balanced the box on my hip and tapped the screen.
A new message waited on the lock screen. The sender name made my grip tighten on the cardboard edge.
Renata. The Medical Assessor for the Lunar Chamber of Commerce.
I opened the text.
"Caleb's lunar phase rating just got flagged with a red alert."
