Her smile is knowing. Almost gentle.
I don’t stop.
By the time I reach Jamie’s desk, I already know what I’ll see.
And there it is—front and center, impossible to miss.
Bright. A statement arrangement.
The card is propped against the vase in large block lettering.
THESE ARE FROM AUDRA.
BE JEALOUS.
I stop.
For a beat, I just stand there.
Then—against my will—I huff out a quiet laugh.
Of course she would do that.
Jamie doesn’t look up. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Which somehow makes it worse. And better.
I realize then what I’ve missed.
Everyone got flowers.
Everyone but me.
Not an oversight. Not an accident.
A line.
They weren’t favors. Or apologies. Or performances.
They were acknowledgments.
She saw them. Thought of them. Took care.
I walk past Jamie without a word.
Back in my office, I close the door and stand there longer than necessary.
Safe.
That’s the word that cuts deepest.
Since when am I not safe in my own company?
Not threatened—challenged.
Not exposed—unbalanced.
I straighten my jacket and move to my desk.
Enough cowering in shame.
