Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. I watched the clock tick past five, then six, then seven. My meeting with HR was in the morning. I kept replaying the conversation I'd overheard in the breakroom, the casual mention of Ben’s starting salary. Higher than mine. My stomach did a flip, a cold lurch.

I’d spent the last decade dedicated to this company, to the late nights, the forgotten vacations. I’d played the game, followed the protocols. Ben, with his flashy ideas and brash confidence, had waltzed in and… what? Won? I scrubbed at my eyes, a sudden fatigue weighing me down.

The reflection in the darkened window showed a face etched with lines I hadn’t noticed before. I stood up and paced my small kitchen. Each step felt like a slow, deliberate act. I poured myself a whiskey. The burn did little to soothe the ache in my heart.