Don't panic. Don't run. Think.
I pull out my phone, pretend to take a call, use the screen to glance behind me. The figure has stopped. He's standing under a streetlamp now, but his face is in shadow.
I turn the corner toward my building, walking fast, keys already in my hand. The entrance is fifty feet away. Forty. Thirty.
I risk one more look back.
The street is empty.
I stand there for a moment, heart pounding, scanning the shadows. Nothing. No one. Just the wind and the distant sound of traffic.
I'm imagining things. Sleep deprivation. Stress. I've had too many bad things happen to trust the quiet.
I unlock the door, rush up the stairs, grip the railing as I go. Inside my apartment, I check the lock three times. Lean against the door and let myself breathe.
I feel like I’m losing my mind.
The ping of an email notification shakes me from my stupor. I almost ignore it. I should have.
The subject line stops me cold.
RE: Fact-Finding Meeting - HR Investigation
My hands shake as I open it.
Dear Ms. Sinclair,
This letter is to inform you that a formal complaint has been filed regarding your conduct at a client dinner this evening. The Human Resources department will conduct a fact-finding investigation into allegations of unprofessional behavior and a hostile work environment.
You are requested to attend a meeting tomorrow at 10:00 AM in Conference Room 4B to provide your account of the events in question.
Please be advised that you may bring relevant documentation and one witness. This meeting is part of a standard investigative process and does not presume any outcome.
Regards,Patricia HollowayHuman Resources Director
I read it three times. The words don't change.
Formal complaint. Investigation. Hostile work environment.
Miles filed a report. He's alleging I'm the problem, and he has witnesses.
This can't be happening.It can't be happening.
Miles has won. He's twisted everything around, made me the villain, and I walked right into it. I gave him exactly what he needed. An outburst, witnesses, ammunition.
My chest tightens. The walls of the apartment feel too close, the air too thin. I stumble to my feet, knock over a glass of water. It shatters on the floor, and somehow that small destruction is what breaks me.
I sink to my knees, gasping. The panic comes in waves, each one bigger than the last. I can't breathe. I can't think. My job. My income. The security I've scraped together since starting over. All of it crumbling. And I can't stop it.
My phone is still in my hand. Through the blur of tears, I scroll to my contacts. My thumb hovers over Kai's name, but I can't. I can't put this on him. Not now.
I keep scrolling. Past Zoe. Past Logan. Past names that feel like strangers.
I stop on a number I could never bring myself to delete. The number I call when I need to feel close to her, even if she can't answer. Even if she'll never answer again.
Mom.
It rings once, twice.
