(Elara POV)
Going back to work feels harder than leaving it.
I arrive early the next morning, like I always do. Too early. The floor is still quiet, lights dimmed, desks empty. I like it this way. Silence is easier to manage than people.
I set my bag down and turn on my computer.
Normal.
That's the word I repeat in my head.
Just pretend it's normal.
The meeting files are already in my inbox. I open them, start sorting, correcting small things that don't matter much but need to be done anyway. It gives my hands something to do. Keeps my mind from drifting back to the hospital room. To my mother's tired smile.
I don't look toward Mr. Hale's office.
Not at first.
When I do, the door is open.
He's already inside.
Of course he is.
He always is.
I focus harder on my screen.
Ten minutes later, his voice reaches me.
"Ms. Moore."
My shoulders tense before I can stop myself. I stand immediately. "Yes, sir?"
He steps out, tablet in hand, expression unreadable as ever. Nothing in his face suggests yesterday ever happened.
Good.
"We'll be reviewing the quarterly breakdown at eleven," he says. "I want the revised projections printed. Two copies."
"Yes, sir."
"And," he adds, pausing, "move the client call to tomorrow."
I blink. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes."
No explanation.
I nod anyway. "I'll take care of it."
He looks at me for half a second longer than necessary.
Then he nods once and goes back into his office.
That's it.
No questions.
No concern.
No mention of yesterday.
Relief washes through me, followed quickly by something heavier.
Disappointment.
I don't like that feeling. I push it down immediately.
At eleven, the meeting goes smoothly. I sit quietly, taking notes, handing out documents when needed. No one mentions my absence. No one looks at me differently.
This is good. This is what I want.
When it ends, I return to my desk and exhale softly.
My phone vibrates.
Mom
I hesitate before answering.
"Elara," she says. "The nurse says they might discharge me tomorrow."
"That's good," I reply quickly. Too quickly. "That's really good."
"I'll need help with the paperwork," she adds gently.
"I'll come after work," I say. "I promise."
I hang up and stare at my screen.
I don't notice Mr. Hale standing there until his shadow falls across my desk.
"You'll need to leave on time today," he says.
My heart jumps. "I—I can stay late if—"
"That wasn't a suggestion," he replies calmly.
I nod. "Yes, sir."
He turns to leave, then stops.
"Ms. Moore."
"Yes?"
"Your work yesterday was covered," he says. "Nothing fell behind."
I swallow. "Thank you."
He doesn't respond.
He just walks away.
I sit there long after, my chest tight, my thoughts tangled.
He's being professional.
That's all this is.
Still, when I pack my bag that evening and leave before sunset for the first time in weeks, it feels strange.
Like I'm stepping out of a routine I didn't realize had become a shield.
Outside, the air is cold. The city loud. Life moving whether I'm ready or not.
I walk toward the subway, my phone clutched in my hand, my mind split between spreadsheets and hospital corridors.
I don't look back at the building.
But I feel it behind me.
And for reasons I don't want to understand yet, the silence between us feels louder than anything that's ever been said.