She nods and asks if I would like a beverage, but I decline and settle on the armchair in the corner.
After a quick flip through the pages, I comb through the fine print, keeping a mental list of questions, and sit back with the packet in my lap to observe for a few minutes.Fully aware my handful of minutes can’t account for what happens behind the scenes, I decide to transfer my mom as soon as possible, but after vetting countless medical practices over the years, I rise to continue my ruse.
The nurse behind the counter pages the Director.Less than two minutes later, she strides through the double glass doors.
“Any questions?”she asks without preamble.
I nod and launch into my list of questions.
When she patiently answers each of my concerns without hesitation, I soften my stance and smile.
“How soon can you accept her transfer?”I ask.
“As soon as you’re ready,” she says.
“How about tomorrow?I’ve already notified her current facility and begun paperwork on that side,” I explain.
She lifts her brows in concern.
“Are you concerned about her current safety?”
I hesitate.
“Her caretakers have been amazing, and I’m sad to move her, but your privacy policies are a big reason I’ve chosen to transfer her,” I say.
When she nods in understanding, a weight lifts off my shoulders.
“As soon as we sign papers and set up payment, I’ll call our preferred safety transport.They’re very discreet,” she says.
I smile my thanks and follow her into the office.
“Should I make sure they have room for you on the transport?”she asks as she sits behind her desk.
I shake my head.
“I have work tomorrow and she handles change better when I’m not involved,” I say.
She pauses with her hand inside the filing cabinet against the wall.When she swings intense grey eyes at me, I realize my tone revealed too much.
“We can include special instructions to best fit the situation in your contract,” she says.
Less than an hour later, I walk through the front doors and into the last rays of evening sun.Without skyscrapers and buildings blocking the sky, the colorful sunset steals my attention.I stop for a moment to appreciate the view before heading to the car.Exhaustion drags at my feet and a pit of dread lodges in my stomach as the thin white scratches on the trunk mock me, but I open the door and drop into the driver’s seat.Hitting the lock button out of habit, I buckle my seat belt before turning the ignition.The engine hums to life.
My stomach growls.I stop at the nearest gas station, fill the tank, and grab a few familiar convenience foods.Unwilling to dirty the inside of the car, I pay and eat standing along the wall near the register in obvious view of the security camera.The guy behind the counter gives me a weird side-eye but decides to ignore me.
I drive straight to the company and use my badge to enter the carpark.After filling out the proper paperwork, I return the keys to the guard and walk to the subway.No one bothers me as I take my normal route home.My faded jeans, old sneakers, and bloodshot eyes help me blend into the crowd.Even on Sundays, the city never sleeps.
Despite my exhaustion, I stay vigilant as I exit the station and walk the last few blocks to my building.I barely manage to drag my body through a quick shower and my nightly routine of downing a glass of water before dropping onto my mattress.
I sink into sleep like a stone tossed into a lake, but pop awake sweaty and disoriented less than an hour later.After tiptoeing across the cold floor and pouring a glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge, I sit in the far back corner of the bed with my knees tucked to my chest and my blankets wrapped tight around me.With the sound of rodents scurrying through the apartments and my neighbors causing their normal nightly ruckus, I filter through emails and fine tune the interim CEO’s schedule—as well as add a few updates to the other executives and half of the department heads’ task lists—for the next few days before my body succumbs to exhaustion again.
My alarm saves me from my never-ending loop of nightmares.I jolt awake and crawl out of bed, the corner now stifling with horrible memories fresh in my mind.After washing off the fear sweat and dressing in my Monday attire—a white shirt and navy skirt suit—I twist my hair into a bun, apply the least amount of makeup I can get away with while hiding the bags under my eyes, pack my briefcase, and check each compartment of my zippered tote bag before slipping my feet into my pumps and locking the door behind me.
I fade into the bustling crowd during morning rush hour and reach the coffee shop across from the office building fifteen minutes earlier than normal.The barista smirks when she recognizes me and asks if I want the usual.I pass her the sticky note I filled out during my subway ride and the company card I’ve had since I took the promotion and became the CEO’s secretary three years ago.
Even though the executive floor has its own kitchen, I buy the first round of coffee for upper management and their personal assistants and secretaries every morning, and in return, everyone begins their day speaking with me instead of gathering to gossip around the coffee maker.I’ve become the person everyone trusts in the office, which eases the friction when a task requires multiple departments.
I pull my collapsible drink carriers out of my tote bag and place them in the barista’s outstretched hand.Her amused smile is so at odds with the city’s cutthroat energy I can’t help but offer her a return grin.As mundane as the task may be, the moment reminds me that there’s still good in humanity.
