Wednesday Afternoon
By midweek, Grace has appointed herself queen of everything.
She sweeps into the marketing department like a conquering general—pointing, redirecting, “suggesting,” commanding.
People obey her without question. Managers nod like she’s written into the bylaws.
And me? She alternates between treating me like a ghost…
and treating me like the world’s most useless paperweight.
“Oh, Evelyn,” she purrs, loud enough for three departments to hear. “Be a darling and fetch me a double espresso, won’t you? No sugar. No foam. You’ll remember that, right?”
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw trembles. “Of course.”
I make the coffee. I hand it over. I smile the way people smile before they commit crimes.
Then I walk into the supply closet, close the door, and bury my face in a box of printer paper.
And I scream. Not because of the coffee.
Not because of her voice. Not even because she’s ruining my job one smirk at a time.
I scream because the one person who could stop her hasn’t.
Because every room she walks into, she acts like she belongs. And the worst part?
Everyone believes her. Everyone except me. And I’m starting to wonder if I’m the fool for not believing it too.