The conference room was just as sterile and cold as ever, but today it felt particularly unwelcoming. I sat quietly, the hum of the air conditioning filling the silence between us. Across the table, Gerald, my boss, leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if searching for some divine inspiration in the industrial tiles.
“You know,” he finally said, his voice casual yet heavy with implication, “everyone always said you’d be taken care of here, but sometimes things change.” I felt a cold knot twist in my stomach. The words hung in the air, a threat veiled as an offhand comment. I couldn’t react, not immediately.
Years of loyalty, late nights, and missed family dinners replayed in my mind. I had always been assured of my place, comforted by the illusion of security. But now, that assurance felt as flimsy as the paper contracts we signed. Gerald’s eyes finally met mine, his expression unreadable. I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say, unwilling to break the fragile silence with words I couldn’t take back.
