The Burden of Knowing

Elena poured her third cup of coffee, the office kitchen's fluorescent lights humming overhead at 2 AM. She'd become intimately familiar with these hours since the divorce — the empty apartment, the dog's concerned eyes following her from room to room. Buster, her rescue Lab, waited at home now. She'd started leaving him alone more often. Some nights she felt like she was abandoning him the way Mark had abandoned them.

She'd never intended to become a corporate spy. It had happened gradually — small observations about the merger that felt important enough to share with David, the VP who'd taken an interest in her career. His hand lingering on her shoulder during meetings. The way he looked at her across the conference table. She'd told herself she was being strategic, building alliances. But the requests had grown more specific. More valuable. More damaging.

Now she sat at her desk, the file drive burning a hole in her pocket. David wanted the quarterly projections before the board meeting tomorrow. He'd hinted at a partnership track. At future possibilities.

The office door clicked open.

Elena's heart seized. Buster's veterinarian had said dogs could sense earthquakes before they hit. She wondered if humans had similar instincts — if her body had been trying to warn her for months.

A figure emerged from the shadowy hallway. Not security. David.

"Couldn't sleep either?" His smile didn't reach his eyes. He knew she was still here. Of course he knew.

Elena thought of Buster waiting by the door, of Mark's packed boxes in the hallway, of the way her father had borne the weight of his own secrets until his heart gave out at fifty-seven. She thought about the easy path, the one that kept you safe because you never really stood for anything.

She pulled the drive from her pocket and set it on her desk.

"Actually," she said, "I was just leaving."

She walked past him, toward the elevators, toward the dog who still loved her, toward something she could bear to live with.