But at the time, I felt responsible.
My salary supported more than just me.
My mother lived with me, and my younger brother was still in school. I was the only person in our household with a stable income.
Losing my job wasn’t simply an inconvenience.
It would affect everyone I loved.
And that was why the final week of my old life frightened me so much.
It began on Monday.
Richard called me into his office shortly before lunch.
He was reviewing a stack of documents when I entered.
“Emily,” he said without looking up, “do you have plans after four on Friday?”
I mentally checked my schedule.
“No.”
“Good. Wait for me downstairs.”
I paused.
“Do we have a meeting?”
Richard finally looked up.
“No.”
“Client dinner?”
“No.”
“Then where are we going?”
He returned his attention to the papers.
“Just be downstairs at four.”
Something about his tone made me uneasy.
