The Palm Reader's Wednesday

Margot smoothed her hair — already impeccable, as always — before knocking on Jacob's office door. Wednesdays were their standing meeting, but today the hat on his coat rack caught her eye. A fedora, dusty and impractical. Not something Jacob would wear.

He looked up from his laptop, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. 'You wanted to discuss the quarterly report?'

'The report can wait.' She set her folder on his desk. 'Jacob, are you okay?'

He hesitated, then gestured to the chair opposite him. 'My father died. Saturday. That was his hat.' He rubbed his palm against his temple, leaving ink smudges on his graying skin. 'I haven't told anyone yet. HR will need to know, bereavement leave, all of that. But I just... I needed to come in today. To feel normal.'

Margot's throat tightened. She and Jacob had worked together seven years, shared countless deadlines and coffees and occasional venting sessions about management's latest orange-tinted memos — the color meant to convey enthusiasm that never quite landed.

'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'You don't have to do this alone.' She reached across the desk, not quite touching his hand. 'When my mother passed, I spent three weeks thinking I'd never feel like myself again. And then one morning, I woke up and the world had somehow kept turning. It does that. It keeps turning.'

Jacob studied her palm, reading the lines as if they might contain something true. 'He hated that I wore a suit every day. Wanted me to be an artist like him. The hat was his way of saying... he never stopped hoping I'd surprise him.'

'You surprise plenty of people,' Margot said softly. 'Just not in the ways he expected.'

The clock ticked on. Outside, rain began to fall, blurring the city skyline. Jacob took a breath, then another. When he finally looked up, something had shifted in his expression — the weight distributed differently, made bearable.

'Thank you,' he said. 'For not letting me pretend everything's fine.'

'That's what colleagues are for,' she replied, picking up her folder. 'Though next week, we really do need to finish that report.'

He almost smiled. 'Next week.'

Margot closed the door behind her, leaving Jacob alone with his father's hat and the quiet understanding that grief, like rain, eventually passes — but not today.