The Riddle After Hours

The lightning outside flashed again, illuminating the empty office in staccato bursts. Sarah stared at her iPhone, the screen showing 2:17 AM and another notification from Marcus: 'We need to talk.' She'd been living like a zombie for months—showing up, going through motions, collecting a paycheck at a job that had slowly drained her of everything that once made her human.

Her boss had delivered his usual bullshit speech earlier that day: 'Synergy,' 'right-sizing,' 'thinking outside the box.' He was like the sphinx, posing riddles with no answers, only the weight of expectations that crushed everyone beneath them. 'What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?' he'd quoted during their meeting, as if ancient riddles could somehow justify the third round of layoffs.

Now she sat at her desk, the fluorescent lights humming their corporate lullaby, and realized the answer wasn't about age or infirmity. The answer was her—and everyone else in this building. They crawled on all fours to get here, stood upright during the daily grind, and leaned on their accumulated bitterness to keep moving forward.

The bull market roared somewhere outside these walls, indifferent to the thousands of tiny deaths occurring inside. Her phone buzzed again. Not Marcus this time—her mother, probably worrying about why she wasn't married yet, why she wasn't happy, why she hadn't figured out the riddle.

Sarah stood up, grabbed her things, and walked out into the storm. The rain felt like permission. Let Marcus wait. Let the sphinx keep its secrets. She was done being the answer to someone else's riddle.