The Layoff Pool

The vitamin D supplement sat on Mara's desk like a tiny orange rebuke. She took it every morning with the grim determination of someone who'd read too many articles about premature aging and insufficient sunlight—both of which described her career at this accounting firm.

"You're in the layoff pool," David said, not looking up from his spreadsheet. The fluorescent lights caught the thinning patch of hair he'd been combing over since their affair ended three months ago.

Mara laughed, a sharp sound that made the junior analyst at the next desk jump. "The pool? David, I am the pool. I've been training replacements since 2019."

"It's different this time."

"It's always different."

She thought about the savings account she'd been building like a bomb shelter. About the Bear market that had claimed her brother's retirement fund last year. About how David had once told her he loved her in the parking garage, Level B4, between a Honda Civic and concrete wall.

"Could you bear the bad news yourself?" she asked. "Or does HR need me for that too?"

David's fingers froze over his keyboard. Outside, it was raining—a proper November downpour that made the city's vitals look like bruised flesh. "They want you to train your replacement. A guy from the Boston office."

Mara swallowed her vitamin without water. It scratched her throat all the way down. "And?"

"He starts Monday."

"Good." She stood, gathering her cardigan. "I'll show him everything. Every shortcut, every password that hasn't been changed since 2008, every spreadsheet that's held together by prayer and conditional formatting. I'll bear the torch, David. I'll burn it all down for him."

"Mara—"

"No, really. Thank you." She touched his shoulder, a ghost of intimacy, and left her office keycard on his desk. "I was getting too old for this anyway. All this artificial light, these vitamins..." She gestured vaguely at the supplement bottle. "Maybe I'll finally get some actual sun."

The elevator took forever. When she stepped outside, the rain felt like permission.