The spreadsheet blurred before Amelia's eyes. It was a simple breakdown of salaries, accidentally left open on David's computer when he went to grab a coffee. David, fresh out of college, the one who always showed up late and spent half the day chatting. He was making *more* than her. Her breath hitched. Her stomach felt like it was twisting into knots. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise quiet office. Her hands, suddenly clammy, fumbled for her phone. She needed to get out, needed air.
She rushed to the restroom, splashing cold water on her face. The reflection staring back was pale and strained. Thirty-five years old, a mortgage, student loans… and David, with his easy smile and no responsibilities, was earning more. She felt a wave of dizziness, gripping the sink for support. She needed to keep it together.
Back at her desk, the fluorescent lights seemed to buzz too loudly. The scent of stale coffee from David’s unattended cup was suffocating. Every click of his keyboard, every burst of laughter from his phone, grated on her nerves. She pulled up her own salary, comparing it to his again, and then to the bills she had to pay.