The Measure of Leaving

Ellen's palm pressed against the conference room glass, leaving a faint print that would vanish before the meeting ended. Three years at this firm, and she'd learned that most things did vanish if you waited long enough — enthusiasm, principles, people.

"You're running the Tokyo account starting Monday," Marcus said, not looking up from his phone. His tone suggested he was doing her a favor. He was wrong.

Outside, rain slicked the windows in rivers of gray. Water, she thought. Everything came down to water eventually — the storm outside, the sweat dampening her blouse, the tears she refused to cry in front of him anymore. There was a reason people drowned instead of burned. Water was patient.

"Marcus."

He finally glanced up. "What? This is the promotion you've been working toward."

"I'm not taking it."

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. She remembered their honeymoon in Bali, how he'd read her palm on the beach at sunset, tracing the life line with a finger that shook just a little. He'd told her she'd live a long, adventurous life. He hadn't mentioned she'd spend half of it waiting for him to become the person he pretended to be.

"You're running away," he said, and the contempt in his voice was almost convincing.

"No." She stood up, her legs steady for the first time in months. "I'm just done running in place."