Chapter 4: Public Shame

Derek was still arguing with the supervisor, but my mind wandered. I stared at the computer, my finger tracing the faint outline of my name on the screen. The quiet whir of the air conditioner faded as I fixated on the details: Derek’s profile, stacked with three condos and a construction company; mine, blank except for "Unemployed." The label burned, even though I knew it wasn’t the full truth.

I watched Derek, polished and confident in his designer suit. It hit me—Tanya Simmons was trying to score a rich man on her way out, never caring about the truth or the wreckage she left behind. I bit the inside of my cheek, resentment blooming. People saw what they wanted, facts be damned.

After we left the office, Derek ducked into the bathroom. I stood by the water cooler, condensation dripping down my plastic cup, when Tanya appeared. She blocked my way, voice low and sarcastic: "Wasn’t it just a little info mix-up? Did you have to go whining to the boss?"

She leaned in, her eyes cold. "Women like you always make a scene, always run to management. Your life must be miserable, huh?" I clenched my fists, debating whether to argue or keep calm. My skin crawled under the attention—public shaming in a small-town office was its own kind of hell.

She tossed her hair. "Hmph, don’t think this trick’ll always work. I’m quitting tomorrow. Go as high as you want, it won’t do a damn thing."

I steadied my breathing and raised my phone. "You’re right. Reporting to your boss is pointless."

Her smirk slipped for a second. She started to walk away, but I called after her, "So, just as your boss suggested, I called the cops. That should work, right?"

She froze, the hum of the office falling silent as the storm brewed.