At seventeen, Sophie believed she already knew what heartbreak felt like. She thought she understood
“I Was Fired Because of My Age. As a Farewell, I Gave Roses to My Colleagues—But Left My Boss a Folder That Could Burn Everything He Built” “Lena, we’ll have to part ways.” Gennady said it with that infuriating softness he always put on, the kind of false gentleness fathers use when punishing a child. He leaned back in his oversized leather chair, fingers folded over his stomach like some smug emperor. “We’ve decided the company needs a fresh perspective. New energy. You understand, don’t you?” I looked at him. At his carefully trimmed beard, at the glossy tie I myself had chosen for him before the last corporate party. Do I understand? Oh, yes. I understood perfectly. The investors had begun murmuring about an independent audit, and he needed to get rid of the only person in this building who could connect all the dots. Me. “I understand,” I said evenly. “By ‘new energy’ you mean Katya from reception? The one who mixes up debit and credit but is twenty-two and giggles at all your jokes?” He flinched, but recovered quickly. “It’s not about age, Lena. It’s just… your approach is a bit outdated. We’re stuck. We need a breakthrough.” A breakthrough. His favorite word for the past six months. I had built this company with him from nothing—back when our office was a shoebox with peeling wallpaper and one flickering lamp. And now, when the walls were glass and the floors polished marble, I apparently no longer matched the décor. “All right,” I rose lightly, though inside I felt a sudden, icy stillness. “When should I clear my desk?” My composure unsettled him. He had expected tears, pleading, maybe even a dramatic scene. Something that would let him savor his role as a gracious victor. “You can do it today,” he said quickly. “No rush. HR will handle the paperwork. Severance package—everything by the book.” I nodded, reached for the door handle, then paused. “You know, Gen, you’re right. The company really does need a breakthrough. And I’ll make sure it happens.” He didn’t understand. Just smiled with that condescending, paternal smirk. When I walked back into the open office, all fifteen desks fell silent. Everyone already knew. Everyone always knew. The girls lowered their eyes; the guys busied themselves with keyboards that weren’t switched on. On my desk sat a neat cardboard box. Efficient. Someone had prepared it in advance. I began placing my things inside: photographs of my children, the chipped mug that had traveled with me through three offices, a stack of professional journals filled with my notes in the margins. At the bottom, I carefully laid down a small bouquet of lilies of the valley — my son had brought them yesterday, “just because.” And then, from the bottom drawer, I lifted out what I had prepared long before today: — twelve scarlet roses, one for each colleague who had stood beside me through the years; — and a heavy black folder, tied with string, its corners worn from being opened and closed in secret. I walked slowly through the office. To each colleague, I handed a rose. I met their eyes. Some whispered “thank you,” some just swallowed hard. A few turned pale. And last of all, I stopped in front of Gennady’s door. In my hands, I carried only the black folder. (continued in the first comment…) “Lena, we’ll have to part ways.” Gennady said it with that infuriating softness he always put on, the
“The Old Woman Asked Me to Help Her Get Rid of ‘Rot’ — I Thought She Meant Mold… Until I Realized She
Yesterday, one of our kids was too upset to walk into school. That’s when Mr. Burwick lay right down
The first thing Michael Grant noticed wasn’t her. It was the two boys. They were standing on the curb
In a worn-down trailer park on the outskirts of Lubbock, Texas, where rusty tin roofs glimmered beneath
— Lena, we’re going to have to part ways. Gennady said it with that fatherly softness in his voice he
Sunlight streamed through the curtains in the small room, casting long shadows on the floor.
Anya had always felt like a stranger in her own home. Her mother clearly favored her older sisters —
Through the wire fence, a small hand reaches out towards the ripe strawberries. I pretend not to notice
