Chapter 2: Rain, Rivalry, and the List

Before I could ask more, the new supervisor pulled me back to the office. That afternoon, he would announce the layoffs.

He moved quickly, not wanting to draw attention. The hallway felt longer than usual, my wet shirt clinging to my back. Every step was heavy with anticipation.

At the break room entrance, I realized my umbrella was missing from the rack. It was custom-made by my wife for my birthday—impossible to mistake for someone else’s.

It had my initials embroidered on the handle. The bright blue fabric was one-of-a-kind. I spun around, searching the rack twice, then three times, my heart sinking as I remembered the day my wife gave it to me, her smile and the way she’d wrapped it up just for me.

I searched everywhere, until a coworker eating by the door said, “Don’t even bother—Marge already snagged it.”

He didn’t even look up from his sandwich, just shrugged. “She does that. You’re not the first.”

I was furious. Of course, this wasn’t the first time. As her team member, she often dumped work on me and used my things without asking.

I clenched my fists. My wife had spent weeks picking out the fabric, sewing it by hand. And Marge just swiped it, like it was nothing. My blood boiled, but I tried to keep it together. The umbrella still smelled faintly of her lavender detergent—a memory I didn’t want to lose.

Her girlfriends always praised me, even nicknamed me ‘the backup knight.’ They thought I enjoyed it, but honestly, every time I heard that name I felt sick.

They’d say it with syrupy voices, like I was some loyal sidekick. The first time, I laughed it off. Now, it just made me want to disappear.

The new supervisor said angrily, “She’s way out of line. How about we share an umbrella?”

He tried to lighten the mood, adding, “We can squeeze in and pretend we’re in a rom-com, right?” His tone was tight, but he was trying to make me smile.

I quickly refused. “It’s raining too hard. One umbrella isn’t enough, and it’s your first day. I’d hate for you to get soaked.”

I tried to sound casual, but really, I just didn’t want to owe anyone else. I forced a smile, hoping he’d drop it.

He looked at me with feeling. “After all these years, you haven’t changed.”

His eyes softened, like he understood more than he let on. Maybe he’d been in my shoes before. For a split second, a memory flashed—us as new hires, laughing over takeout in the break room, wondering if things would ever get better.

He handed me the layoff list again. “Forget the umbrella. Take this list. When we announce the layoffs this afternoon, use it to put her in her place.”

He pressed the list into my hand, the paper crinkling between our fingers, his grip firm. For a moment, I felt like he was passing me a shield.

Holding the list, I felt its weight. I gritted my teeth and dashed through the rain back to the office.

The rain came down in sheets, cold and relentless, soaking my pants and shoes. The wind whipped at my face, and I clutched the list to my chest, heart pounding with a mix of dread and anticipation.