A profound silence followed.
That simple sentence meant more to me than the canceled acquisition or Eleanor’s invitation.
For four years, I’d pursued Gavin’s approval.
I’d wanted recognition, promotion, a better office, and proof that my work mattered.
Suddenly, I no longer wanted any of it.
Gavin looked stunned.
“You’re throwing away four years.”
I picked up the cardboard box.
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“You did.”
Then I returned to my desk.
I packed my daughters’ photographs, my notebook, headphones, and painted coffee mug.
I also found the little plastic astronaut Lucy had hidden in a drawer two years earlier because she thought offices were “boring without space people.”
Several coworkers came over quietly.
Some embraced me.
Others apologized for remaining silent when Gavin fired me.
One whispered, “You deserved better.”
Nina began crying.
I nearly joined her.
When I’d finished packing, Eleanor was still waiting.
