Clara sat in the stiff office chair, her sketchbook clutched tightly against her chest. It was her shield, her comfort, the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely. Across the desk sat Rajiv, the HR manager, with his too-polished smile and the faint smell of lemon air freshener clinging to his suit.
"We're really sorry, Clara," he began, sliding a box of tissues across the desk. His voice was drenched in artificial sympathy. "The company is restructuring. This decision has nothing to do with your performance."
Not personal, huh? Clara's chest tightened as those words landed like a punch. She glanced at the walls. The colorful posters of the characters she'd worked so hard to design seemed to mock her now, their cheerful faces silently jeering.
She bit back the sting of tears and forced a tight smile. "Oh, no worries. It's only my second firing in two years. Guess I'm getting good at this."
Rajiv blinked, clearly caught off guard by her sarcasm. His hand froze on the tissue box. He wasn't prepared for someone like Clara—someone who wouldn't cry on cue.
The meeting ended with an awkward handshake and an even more awkward attempt to open the office door, which decided to jam at the worst possible moment. Clara muttered a curse under her breath, finally wrestling it open and storming out with her sketchbook under one arm.