Two days later, I found myself in the same meeting room, the air thick with tension. My supervisor stood at the head of the table, their expression unreadable.
“I’ve reviewed your work,” they said, flipping through a stack of papers with a practiced air of authority.
“And?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
They looked up, their eyes meeting mine for a moment before sliding away.
“It’s not good enough,” they declared, tossing the papers down. “You’ll need to put in extra hours to fix this.”
I nodded, swallowing the retort that threatened to slip out. There was no point in arguing; I knew how this game was played.
The others in the room shifted uncomfortably, their silence a testament to their own fears of being next in line.
Once again, the meeting ended with a wave of dismissal, and I returned to my desk, the weight of their words settling heavily on my shoulders.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
