Chapter 4: Patterns and Promises

Marcus still approved half a day off for Aubrey, letting her head home to rest. I watched her leave, her shoulders hunched, the ginger tea cooling in her hand. Her absence left the office strangely colder.

All afternoon, I sat alone in Marcus’s office, waiting for him to finish a string of meetings. The only thing left of Aubrey was her half-empty mug of ginger tea, sitting on the coffee table, its scent mingling with the faint smell of printer toner and cologne.

When Marcus was finally ready to leave, I followed him down to the parking garage. We slid into his Tesla, my sneakers squeaked against the concrete, and the stale air tasted like old cigarettes and rain. As he leaned over to buckle my seatbelt—a habit he’d never quite broken—I noticed a little white rabbit charm dangling from the dash, its plastic smile oddly out of place in the sleek car. It was cute, cheerful, utterly not Marcus.

The rabbit smiled at me, but a weight pressed on my chest. For a second, I almost envied that little piece of plastic—always grinning, never feeling anything at all.

I stared at it, searching for words. They came out flat. "So Aubrey has graduated too."

"Yeah," Marcus said, voice carefully neutral.

He went on, almost too quickly, "She graduated last year. As soon as she was out, she sent her resume straight to us. We were short-staffed, and I knew she could handle the work, so I hired her."

He kept talking, but his words felt like explanations, excuses tumbling out faster than he could control. After a moment, he just fell silent, watching the streetlights flicker through the windshield.

Whatever flicker of energy or curiosity had sparked in me earlier was gone. I slumped against the window, letting the world slip past—billboards, headlights, the old Tastee Diner sign blinking in the distance.

Maybe for someone as sick as me, even if Marcus said what he once did—"There’s no need"—and gave me that old sense of security, I wouldn’t be able to feel happy anymore. Not really. Not now.