Days pass slowly after that incident, each one dragging into the next.
The store feels different now, a place of discomfort where the walls seem to close in.
I avoid looking at Mark, aware of his presence yet trying to ignore it.
The wrenching feeling in my stomach hasn’t subsided, a constant reminder of my precarious position.
Customers come and go, some familiar, others new, all unaware of the undercurrents beneath the surface.
I try to focus on tasks at hand, checking inventory, organizing shelves, small things that keep my mind occupied.
But it’s impossible to escape the looming board meeting.
Every time the thought crosses my mind, my heart beats a little faster, a steady drum of anxiety.
The phone rings occasionally, a jarring sound that breaks the monotony.
I hesitate each time, fearing it’s another family member trying to reach me.
