“Don’t let them grind you down,” he says as he gathers his canes. “And about that man—real or not—if he made you feel something, that’s what matters.”
He hobbles away, leaving me alone with my racing heart and the distinct feeling that my day is about to get much worse.
I stand up, smoothing my skirt, and catch my reflection in the black computer screen. My makeup is doing its best to hide the damage, but there are still dark circles under my eyes, and my hair looks like I styled it with a tornado.
Professional. Confident. Not at all like someone who may or may not have sexually assaulted a stranger last night.
I make my way to the conference room, passing Stephanie’s desk.
“Good luck,” she says sweetly. “I heard they’re cracking down on tardiness.”
“Thanks for the support,” I mutter.
The conference room is sterile and cold, with motivational posters about “Excellence” and “Teamwork” that feel more like threats than inspiration. Dave is already seated, a manila folder open in front of him.
“Sit.”
I sit.
“Mary, we need to talk about your performance.”
Here we go.
“I know I was late today, but—”
“It’s not just today.” He flips through the folder. “Late Monday. Left early Tuesday for your ‘grandmother’s doctor appointment.’ Yesterday you seemed… distracted.”
“My grandmother really did—”
“Mary.” His voice is sharp. “I’m not questioning your grandmother’s health. I’m questioning your commitment to this job.”
My stomach drops. “Dave, I’m committed. I love working here.”
That’s a lie. I hate it here.
Because here’s the truth that Dave doesn’t care about:
I’ve been a Personal Banking Associate at this job for seven years. Seven. No promotion. No raise worth mentioning. I show up, I smile, I sell credit cards like candy to people who don’t need them, open accounts for customers who barely make eye contact, and lie every day that this is a career I’m proud of.
But I stay. Because I have to.
Because Sallie Mae still owns my ass from that business degree I barely use.
Because Grandma’s prescriptions cost more than my rent.
Because I’m 29,single, and one missed paycheck away from financial ruin while my stepsister Melissa flies to Ibiza to promote a teeth-whitening brand on Instagram.
Because when everything else in my life is cracked and bleeding and on fire, I still know how to balance a drawer, pitch a savings plan, and smile like I mean it.
Because this job, this paycheck, this predictable little cubicle… It’s safe.
And right now? Safe is the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
Dave keeps talking. “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re phoning it in. Your numbers are down, your attitude has been… off, and frankly, customers have been asking for other associates.”
That last part hits like a physical blow. “What customers?”
“That’s not the point. The point is, we need to see improvement. Immediately.”
