She sat behind her desk, posture neat, hands carefully flipping through folders, straightening papers that didn't need straightening. Everything on her desk was in perfect order, as always. A planner laid open, her pen aligned with the margin, a bottle of water untouched at the corner.
It was a miracle she'd made it to the office at all.
The drive had passed in a blur, each red light and turn navigated on muscle memory alone. Her hands had gripped the steering wheel tightly, fingers locked, knuckles pale. Traffic passed, horns honked, radio static murmured in the background, but none of it reached her. Her mind was buzzing—loud, unruly, and unkind.
Leonard. Leonard. Leonard.
The name echoed like an unwanted chant. No matter how many times she tried to shift her focus—to the car in front of her, to the memo she'd meant to review, to the song lyrics playing faintly from a passing vehicle—her thoughts kept snapping back to him.
