EMILY
"Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up."
I obey, my shoulders heavy. I know what's coming. Vince's office is as grim as the rest of the call center-closed blinds, stale sweat in the air.
"You know why you're here?" His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'll try harder."
"No, you won't." He leans forward, eyes narrowing. "You've been here a week and haven't collected a penny." He chuckles without humor. "You're done."
He pulls out an envelope. "Greg gets your paycheck. He knows how to squeeze money out of these people. Unlike you."
He whistles. Greg appears at the door, grinning like a rat.
"Yes, boss?"
"Bonus pay," Vince says, handing him the envelope. "You've earned it."
"Thanks, boss."
Vince looks back at me. "You still here? Get out."
I rise slowly and walk out. My fourth job lost in six months. I don't even bother going to my cubicle. There's nothing worth taking.
Their laughter echoes behind me.
The hallway outside is dim and cold. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, like they're mocking me. I keep walking, trying to push the shame down.
Then my phone buzzes.
Mia.
I hesitate before answering. She's the only one in this city who truly cares if I come home or not.
"Hey," I say, trying to sound normal.
"I thought you were at work," she says, panic in her voice. "Can you talk?"
"I'm on my way home. What's wrong?"
There's a pause. Then, "We've been robbed."
The words hit like a punch. "What?"
"They took the TV," she says quickly, voice shaking. "And... your mom's necklace. It's gone."
I stop walking. The TV doesn't matter. But the necklace?
"No. Maybe it's somewhere else. Check the kitchen, or-"
"I looked everywhere, Em. I'm sorry."
My throat tightens. That necklace was all I had left of her. Just cheap metal, maybe-but it was hers. A memory I wore close until I got scared someone would steal it. I tucked it away. And now it's gone.
I can't speak. My grip tightens around the phone.
"Em?"
"Yeah," I manage.
"I'm so sorry," Mia whispers. "I should've been home. I should've-"
"It's not your fault," I cut in. "It's not your fault we live in a shitty apartment in a shitty neighborhood."
Silence stretches between us.
Then she asks quietly, "Why are you coming home?"
I hesitate. "Fired."
"Again?" Her voice softens. "I'll get the ice cream out."
"That's my girl."
I hang up before she can say anything else. I slip the phone into my pocket and keep walking, but my legs feel like they're dragging weights.
I don't want to go back. Not now. Not to that apartment. Not to the empty space where my necklace used to be.
Memories crowd in-my mom's smile, the way she'd tuck the necklace under my shirt like it was something sacred. I can almost feel it, cool against my skin.
I stopped wearing it because I didn't want to lose it. Now I've lost it anyway.
I walk without thinking, lost in the building's maze of hallways. I turn corners without direction, feet moving just to escape my own thoughts. Everything looks the same-cold, white walls, buzzing lights, silence.
I finally pause, glancing around. I don't recognize this part of the building. And oddly, I don't care. What does it matter where I am?
I keep walking.
Then the walls change. Gray gives way to polished dark wood. The overhead lights shift to a soft, golden glow. I blink. For a moment, it feels like I've stepped into another building altogether.
Ahead, a set of double doors stands slightly open. Laughter and voices drift from inside. The brass handles shine under the warm light.
Drawn by curiosity-or maybe just the need to feel anything-I step forward and push the door open.
And just like that, I step into a different world.
/0/79685/coverbig.jpg?v=96c298793330dd7094e6165de1f6165a)
View More Comments on App
/0/53868/coverbig.jpg?v=6dfabb9994dca10e6c3a5566f49266de)
/0/60228/coverbig.jpg?v=7483aee7126a0c4a3441e4a4b8830ed8)
/0/81262/coverbig.jpg?v=54deda504a91a0eb1f8c5549d31d6a2f)
/0/77279/coverbig.jpg?v=f54e8e3918361c612323e930c8073ace)
/0/20109/coverbig.jpg?v=3d7aa366f9214347e00f8835d9a152eb)
/0/69842/coverbig.jpg?v=0d1701acaa3a759fe03d9b2a4745615d)
/0/69834/coverbig.jpg?v=fcc364f58e98a2ca005385db2508a9f0)
