Carleigh stepped out of the office, her adrenaline crashing into a wall of exhaustion. The entire office was pretending to work, but she could feel their eyes on her.
She walked back to her desk to retrieve her box.
Secretary Davis was there. She was holding the framed photo of Carleigh's mother.
"You think you're so special," Davis hissed, her voice low. "Walking in there and shouting at him. You're just trash."
She dropped the photo.
It wasn't an accident. Carleigh saw her fingers open. The frame hit the corner of the metal filing cabinet before smashing onto the thin carpet. The glass shattered.
Carleigh stopped. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. That photo was the only one she had of her mother before the sickness took her. It was the original print.
She dropped her box. She fell to her knees, her hands scrambling for the photo.
"Oops," Davis said, a smirk audible in her voice.
Carleigh picked up the photo. A shard of glass slid across her palm, leaving a nasty, painful gash. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but blood welled up instantly, bright red, dripping onto the smiling face of her mother in the picture.
Something inside Carleigh snapped. A tether that had been holding her back for three years just dissolved.
She stood up. Her hand was bleeding freely, droplets hitting the beige carpet. She grabbed the stack of files Davis had dumped on her desk earlier-the ones meant for the noon meeting.
"Pick it up," Davis sneered.
Carleigh wound her arm back and threw the files. Not at the desk. At Davis.
The heavy binder clip struck Davis in the chest, and hundreds of pages exploded into the air, fluttering down like a blizzard.
"You pick it up!" Carleigh screamed. Her voice was raw, primal. "Pick it up like you pick up his dry cleaning! Like you pick up his scraps!"
Davis shrieked, stumbling back.
The door to Kenton's office flew open. He stood there, phone still in hand, staring at the chaos. He saw the papers covering the floor. He saw Davis cowering.
And then he saw Carleigh. He saw the blood dripping from her clenched fist. His eyes widened. He took a step forward, dropping the phone onto his desk.
"Carleigh?" His voice was unsure. He looked at the blood. "You're hurt."
"Stay away from me!" Carleigh held up her bloody hand like a weapon. "I quit, Kenton! I quit this job, I quit this marriage, and I quit you!"
She bent down, snatched the photo from the glass shards with her uninjured hand, and turned around.
"Carleigh, wait-your hand needs to be cleaned," Kenton called out. He sounded frantic now. He started to move toward her.
"If you come near me, I will scream," she said, her voice dropping to a terrifying calm.
She walked to the elevators. She pressed the button with a bloody fingerprint.
Kenton stopped. He looked at her, really looked at her, standing there in the ruins of his office, bleeding and broken but standing taller than he had ever seen her. A strange, cold fear gripped his heart.
The elevator doors opened. Carleigh stepped in.
Kenton turned to Davis, who was starting to sob theatrically. "She... she attacked me, Mr. Parker! She's crazy!"
Kenton looked at the shattered glass on the floor. He recognized the photo in the debris. He knew how much that photo meant to Carleigh.
His face went cold. "Your personal disputes have created a disruption on my executive floor and resulted in the destruction of property. That is unacceptable."
Davis stopped crying. "Sir?"
"You're fired," Kenton said. "Get out of my building before I have security throw you out."
He turned back to the elevator, but the doors had already closed. The floor indicator was ticking down.
