The Palm Reader's Prescription

Maya pressed her palm against the cold glass of the skyscraper, forty-three floors above the city. At 47, she'd mastered the art of looking like she belonged in boardrooms while secretly supplementing her existential dread with a daily regimen of vitamin D and half-cautious optimism. The marketing director position was hers to lose, just as Garrett had reminded her that morning.

"You're like a **bull** in a china shop, Maya," he'd said, smoothing his tie. "All force, no finesse. Maybe that's why your divorce never quite stuck to landing."

She should've thrown her coffee at him. Instead, she'd nodded and made notes about synergy.

Now, staring at her hand against the window, she noticed how the lines had deepened since she started at the firm seven years ago. A life line that forked twice. A heart line that wandered like a lost tourist.

"You have surgeon's hands," her mother had once said, reading her **palm** at the kitchen table, smoke curling from her cigarette. "But you'll never operate on anything worth saving."

Her phone buzzed. Garrett: "Board meeting in 5. Don't embarrass yourself."

Maya reached into her pocket and fingered the small amber bottle. The **vitamin** supplements she'd started taking after her doctor mentioned fatigue and stress. She'd laughed at first—she slept four hours a night and ran on adrenaline and artisanal espresso. But lately, the fatigue had settled into her bones like wet cement.

She took the elevator down, watching the numbers descend. In the restroom mirror, she applied lipstick with the precision of someone who'd spent decades learning how to appear unbothered.

The boardroom was cold. Garrett stood at the head of the table, his PowerPoint presentation humming with aggressive graphics about market penetration and Q4 projections. He caught her eye, smirked.

"Maya," he said. "Your thoughts on the Singapore acquisition?"

She stood. Outside, rain began to fall against the glass, blurring the city into impressionist smears. She thought about her palm, her vitamins, her ex-husband's voice calling her stubborn as a bull. She thought about the way her mother had traced the lines on her hand, predicting a life that never quite materialized.

"Actually," Maya said, "I have some concerns about the due diligence."

The room went quiet. Outside, a palm tree swayed violently in the wind, fronds whipping against the glass.

She smiled, and for the first time in years, it wasn't manufactured. "But I think we should discuss them over drinks. My treat."