The meeting is in an hour.
I sit at my desk, staring at the computer screen, trying to muster the courage to voice my concerns.
It feels like a losing battle.
My phone buzzes with messages from colleagues and friends, all buzzing about the post.
I ignore them, my mind fixated on the upcoming conversation.
The newsroom is a hive of activity, but I feel detached, as if I’m watching from the outside.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, typing and deleting the same email draft.
It’s meant to express my reservations, but the words feel hollow.
The clock ticks on, each second dragging me closer to the inevitable.
My heart races, a steady thrum of anxiety.
