Most of the time, it feels small. Ordinary. Almost forgettable.
Like six dollars at a register.
Like a quiet decision made in a single breath.
The morning after it happened, I was convinced I was in trouble.
There’s a specific kind of silence that fills your chest when your manager asks you to come to the office “for a minute.” It’s not loud, but it’s heavy. It presses down on every thought, turning possibilities into worst-case scenarios.
Had I broken policy?
Had someone complained?
Had I crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to cross?
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