In the days leading up to the meeting, I try to prepare myself.
Words don’t come easily, not when they carry the weight of truth.
But I know I have to try.
The old woman’s face, her quiet dignity, stays with me.
Maybe she doesn’t need my voice, but I feel compelled to offer it.
The meeting hall is small, filled with familiar faces.
People murmur quietly, casting glances at the clock.
As I take my seat, I can feel the tension in the room, a collective holding of breath.
The manager stands at the front, her expression unreadable.
She begins to speak, outlining changes that promise improvement.
