Chapter 3
The next morning, the break room was buzzing with gossip.
As soon as I walked in with my cup, the chatter died down.
Someone coughed, and a few people quickly looked down at their phones, pretending not to notice me.
Murmurs broke out all around. "Hey, did you hear? The one who got all the special treatment totally crashed and burned."
"Told you she always acted all high and mighty, but who knows how long she's been sucking up to him behind the scenes?"
"Turns out Emily didn't need any connections. She actually won with her own skills."
"Maybe she's just getting old, can't keep up in bed anymore!"
I stood there, my nails digging into my palms.
Emily walked over, holding a cup of coffee.
"Sarah, you're here," she said.
"I really feel terrible about yesterday. You're my senior, so beating you just feels really awkward for me.
"This coffee is my way of apologizing. If you have any advice for me at work, please don't hold back."
She held the coffee out for a full five seconds.
I reached out to take it.
But just as my fingers brushed the cup, she suddenly let go.
The scalding coffee spilled down my chest and all the way to my waist.
I gasped and instinctively took a step back.
Emily froze for a second, then glanced down at her hand.
"Sarah, did you not grab it?" she stammered.
"I know you're upset with me but you didn't have to let it drop on purpose."
Her eyes welled up, and her voice shook.
"The coffee was just made, it was so hot I couldn't even hold on."
Everyone turned to look at us.
"Emily was being so polite, offering her coffee, but Sarah just wouldn't take it, and ended up spilling the whole cup on herself," someone whispered.
"Lost the promotion and now she's playing these petty tricks? What a bad look," another person scoffed.
"What's going on here?" James asked as he walked in.
He glanced at Emily's teary eyes, then at my coffee-stained shirt.
His brow furrowed.
"I was handing Sarah a coffee, but she didn't hold it steady," Emily said, her voice trembling.
"It was just an accident," she added.
"I didn't," I tried to explain.
"Did you burn your hand?" James cut me off, looking over at Emily.
Emily glanced at her sleeve, noticing a small coffee stain on the cuff.
"No, it's just a little spot," she replied.
James glanced at me again.
"You caused this, so deal with it. Go buy her a clean shirt," he said.
I looked down at the red, burning patch on my chest.
"I..." I started.
"Don't stand here and disrupt everyone else," James said, his voice flat.
I looked into his eyes: there was nothing there, not a hint of emotion, like I was just some stranger to him.
I opened my mouth, but then closed it again.
Forget it.
No matter what I said, he would never believe me anyway.
I nodded, didn't say another word, and turned to walk out.
Downstairs at the mall, I just grabbed a random shirt and headed to the register.
The cashier took the shirt, glanced at it, then looked at me.
"Miss, this size doesn't really fit you. Want to try a bigger one?" she asked.
"And your burn looks pretty bad. Do you want to get it treated first?"
I looked down.
Dark coffee stains stretched from my collarbone to my stomach, sticking to my skin.
The burn was bright red, and a few blisters had already popped up.
Even the cashier could see how bad it was.
But all James saw was that tiny spot on Emily.
"No, thanks," I said.
I paid, grabbed the bag, and headed back to the office.
Standing in the lobby of the office building, my tears started falling before I even realized it.
No one would even notice me.
And there was no James who'd cross half the city just to comfort me.
I brought the shirt I'd bought for Emily over to her desk.
James was talking to her. "You must've been shaken up today. Take the day off and get some rest."
"Thank you, Mr. Grant," Emily replied.
James didn't even look at me.
"Sarah, you'll cover her work today," he said.
I didn't show any emotion, just nodded.
I turned and walked back to my desk.
On my desk sat an unopened tube of burn ointment, with a sticky note stuck underneath.
It read: [Don't forget to use it.]
I picked it up, barely glanced at it, and tossed it straight into the trash by my feet.
When I turned on my computer, my screen filled up with tasks; the list was endless.
I just stared at all those tasks.
The burn on the back of my hand was still red and raw, and every time I typed, it stung like hell.
By six o'clock, I finished the last line.
I opened a blank document and typed out the words at the top: Resignation Letter.