Her chest was rising and falling in jagged, choking breaths. Her throat was tight, like she'd swallowed glass. Her ears were ringing—not from outside noise, but from within. It was the sound of panic, pressure, shame. Her hands were balled into fists so tight, her fingernails dug deep into the skin. Blood. She didn't care.
He wouldn't stop.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." His voice cut through the silence like a blade. Not yelling—no. Worse. Controlled. Icy. Measured. The kind of calm that came just before something exploded.
He was standing dead center in the office, tie yanked halfway down, shirt creased, hair falling into his face like he'd run his hands through it too many times. His expression wasn't just angry. It was disgusted.
"This isn't just a mistake. It's not a slip. This is you being utterly, embarrassingly stupid."
She flinched.
"What the fuck are you even doing here, Mae? Why are you in this building? Who do you know? Who did you sleep with to land this job? Because you clearly didn't get here on merit."
Her heart cracked, breath caught in her lungs. He said it. Out loud. In front of everyone.
"You signed off on a legal document you didn't read. The termination clause buried in the third page? You let it go through. You gave your fucking blessing. You waved it in. That's not a 'whoops.' That's career suicide—and now you've dragged the entire company into the grave with you."
He moved closer, voice getting lower but sharper, more venom in every syllable.
"We lost the deal. You get that, right? Millions. A strategic partnership that took nearly a year to build. Gone, because you were too lazy, too clueless, or too goddamn dumb to check a document that was your only responsibility."
Someone in the back tried to look away. He snapped toward them.
"Look at her! All of you, look. This is what failure looks like. This is what happens when you hire amateurs in a place meant for professionals. I should've let her go months ago. But no—I gave her chances. I listened to her bullshit about 'trying harder.' I should've trusted my gut." He turned back to her. "You are a waste of a position, a waste of space, and frankly, a fucking embarrassment to the team."
The words echoed like cracks across a frozen lake.
Mae's legs felt weak. Her pulse throbbed against her skull. Her eyes blurred.
"And now—guess what? You're done." He stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. "You're fired. On the spot. I don't want to see your face in this building again. Not today. Not ever. Security will be up in five. Pack your shit—or don't. I don't give a damn. Someone else can throw it in the trash for you. That's where it belongs."
Her jaw parted slightly. Her brain was trying to process the words, but they wouldn't land. Wouldn't make sense. Wouldn't compute.
She looked up, eyes wide, blinking past the ringing in her ears.
"…Huh?"
It came out broken. Pathetic. Barely audible.
He didn't answer.
He just walked away like she didn't exist.
And maybe now, she didn't.
—----------------------------------
The rain came down in heavy, careless sheets, soaking everything it touched—but she didn't move. She didn't flinch. She didn't even blink. The busted bus stop roof had long since given up its job of shielding people, and now the water fell directly onto her head, matting her hair against her face, her shoulders, her spine. The plastic seat beneath her was cold and slick, but she sat stiffly on it, hands lifeless in her lap.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the empty road ahead. Vacant. Hollow.
The scolding still rang in her ears—not as sound, but as a vibration, an echo that lived under her skin now. Each cruel word, every eye that had watched her break and said nothing… they stabbed like needles under her flesh. She couldn't feel where the pain ended and her body began.
She should cry.
She should scream.
She should say something.
But nothing came out. Not even breath. Just the silence of someone who had finally been beaten down too many times to care how deep the bruises went.
She had wanted to explain herself. She had wanted—no, needed—to tell him the truth. That it wasn't her fault. That she tried. That she hadn't slept in days, juggling deadlines and hospital calls and endless fear.
But none of it mattered now.
She had been fired. She had been humiliated, reduced to a cautionary tale in front of everyone. Her name was ash in their mouths. Her career? Gone. Her future? Evaporated.
And then—
Ring, ring.
The phone in her pocket vibrated weakly through her soaked jeans. She didn't react at first. She didn't want to. But her hand moved on its own, slow and heavy, pulling the device out with fingers that felt like stone.
She brought it to her ear with robotic motion.
"Hello? Is this Miss Mae I'm speaking to?" came a polite, professional female voice on the other end.
Mae opened her mouth.
All she could manage was a sound—something between a hum and a sigh. "Hmm…"
"I'm calling to inform you," the voice continued, "that your mother… she has passed away."
Crack.
The sky above roared in response. Thunder cracked like the sky itself had broken in two.
The phone slipped from her fingers. No panic. No rush. Just… fell.
It hit the ground with a soft splash and sank into the puddle beneath her, screen glowing briefly before fading out.
She didn't reach for it.
A single tear broke loose from her eye—not with drama, not with sobbing—but quietly, pitifully, like it had fought its way free through everything else just to fall.
It slid down her cheek and was swallowed by the rain, indistinguishable from everything else drowning her.
Then, slowly—mechanically—she stood.
Her limbs moved like dead weight, rising not from strength, but from habit. As if her body hadn't realized yet that her soul had already gone. She turned and began walking, one step at a time, shoes sloshing through the waterlogged pavement.
No direction. No purpose. Just movement.
Her mother had been on life support for months. Mae had worked like a woman possessed, scraping together every penny, every hour of overtime, every favor she could beg—just to keep the machines breathing for her. Just to hold off the inevitable. She had hoped. She had fought.
(Continued)