A knot forms in my throat, hot and suffocating. He’s leaving...again.
The video ends with Jake staring directly into the camera, his gaze so intense I can almost feel it burning through the screen. “I just hope that someday you’ll be able to forgive me.”
The screen cuts to black, Jake’s face swallowed by darkness, but I can’t move. I can’t even blink. I stare at the blank rectangle as if my eyes can force it to bring him back, as if it didn’t just shatter everything I thought I understood. My mind whirls, and regret that settles deep within me. All these years, I’d believed he left because I wasn’t enough—not beautiful enough, not ambitious enough, not anything enough to make him stay. And now I know the truth. He left because he was convinced he wasn’t.
Pushing back from my desk, I stand on wobbly legs, suddenly desperate for air. I hurry to the restroom, lock myself in a stall, and press my palms against my hot, damp cheeks as tears spill over. Four years of anger begins to dissolve, leaving in its place hurt I hadn’t allowed myself to experience before.
The restroom door squeaks open, followed by the click-clack of heels and female voices—coworkers chatting as they enter.
“I can’t believe Jake’s transferring,” one of them says, her tone hushed but clearly audible in the tiled space.
“Yeah,” the other replies with the casual confidence of someone spreading authorized gossip. “Amanda said it’s because of Sarah. Something about them dating ages ago.”
“Seriously?” The first voice drips with disbelief, not shock but something sharper, uglier—like disgust, as if I never had any right to date someone like Jake. “Ugh. She should’ve been the one transferring. Jake is so hot.”
They know nothing—nothing about the history, the pain, the truth that’s been buried between us for years. And yet the wordsstill land, still sting. Confronting them is beyond me right now. I don’t have the strength.
After they leave, I step out on shaky legs and splash cold water on my face. Working today? Impossible. Not with my past and present colliding so violently.
Minutes later, I’m calling in sick.
Outside, I grab my phone and type out a message to Jake with trembling fingers:I need to talk to you. Please call me when you get this.
The seconds after pressing send feel like hours, each one stretching impossibly long. No reply appears.
Finally, my phone vibrates against my palm, but my hope dies as quickly as it comes to life. It’s Wendy’s message flashing across the screen:Where are you? Amanda’s snooping around your desk.
My heart lurches into my throat. Oh no. The video Jake sent is still open on my monitor.
Chapter 16
Irace back to the office, worst-case scenarios crashing through my mind like a violent storm, each possibility more terrifying than the last. Amanda watching Jake’s video. Amanda discovering our history. Amanda using it all against us both.
Down the corridor, I hear her voice before I round the corner. My steps falter, then quicken.
“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do, rookie?” Amanda looms over Wendy like she’s one wrong breath away from shoving her, red lips curled into a predatory sneer. “I’ve worked here way longer than you. I can do as I please. Now move out of the way before you regret it.”
Wendy doesn’t budge. “You need to go back to your office and leave Sarah alone.”
Though Wendy’s chin is held high, her complexion has paled to the color of copy paper. She resembles a rookie goalkeeper facing a championship striker—determined but terrified. I don’tblame her. Amanda’s so red in her face, I half expect steam to escape out her ears. She hasn’t seen the video yet.
Without hesitation, I stride forward. “What’s going on here?” Wendy stood up to Amanda for my sake, an act I’m grateful for and one I’ll never forget. It’s my turn to have her back.
Amanda’s gaze snaps to me, eyes narrowing. “Oh, look who decided to grace us with her presence.” I really don’t like her condescending tone. “Late again, Sarah. How shocking.”
I ignore her entirely, focusing instead on my friend. “Are you okay?”
Wendy nods, but the slight tremble in her shoulders says otherwise.
“Oh, please,” Amanda tosses her head back, “spare me the melodrama. This is none of your business.”
My arms fold across my chest as I step directly between them, creating a human barricade against Amanda’s hostility. “It is my business. You’re standing by my cubicle harassing my friend.” My voice is steel. “I suggest you go back to work.”
“Harassing?” Amanda’s laughter erupts like I’m spouting nonsense. “I was simply reminding her of her place.”
The anger in me that has diminished since watching Jake’s video flares to life, hot and uncontainable. “She doesn’t need you breathing down her neck, reminding her of some nonexistent hierarchy. You don’t get to treat people like this.”
Amanda isn’t the queen of this office, though she struts through it like royalty. That imaginary crown doesn’t give her the right to intimidate everyone she encounters. She needs to descend from her self-constructed throne and remember she’s a colleague, not our ruler.
