The hum of the old microwave filled the cramped break room as I sat there, trying to tune out the silence that seemed to press in from all sides. My eyes drifted to the small TV mounted above the vending machines, where an interview played. The news anchor’s voice was steady, but the guest’s casual dismissal of his health concerns caught my attention.
“We all have to manage, right?” Laura’s indifferent response echoed in my mind. Her words were meant to be comforting, I suppose, but they only served to emphasize the power imbalance that defined the office environment.
The room felt smaller than usual, the air thicker. I shifted in my seat, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the creeping tension in my chest was hard to ignore.
It was like watching my own reality unfold on the screen, a reminder that my own health was a low priority in the grand scheme of things.
I glanced at the clock, noting the time with a sigh. There was a meeting with HR looming ahead, a conversation I had been dreading.
The silence was punctuated by the clatter of the microwave door opening and closing, and I realized I was not alone in this feeling of unease.
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