In the past few weeks, things had escalated subtly but steadily. First, an unexpected late-night call about a missed client meeting. Then a curt email marked “urgent” that left him drained for days.
A week ago came the first hint of a warning, a vague complaint with no details. Then two days ago, he was called into the office for a meeting, returning frustrated but silent. Last night, a small outburst in his sleep hinted at the pressure he was under.
And now, tonight’s scratch—an odd mark without an explanation—felt like the next unspoken piece of the puzzle.
We were standing in the quiet, the air thick with unasked questions and unspoken worries. I could see it in the way his shoulders held tension, in the tight line of his mouth.
“Did something happen at work?” I ventured, trying to sound casual, knowing full well the weight of the question.
“No, it’s nothing,” he replied too quickly, a forced smile flickering and dying on his lips.
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