The office was eerily quiet, save for the low hum of the city's traffic below, which seemed distant, almost irrelevant. Eric Dawson sat behind his polished oak desk, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen before him, though he couldn't seem to focus on anything. His hands, once steady and sure, trembled slightly as they hovered over the keyboard. His mind raced, replaying the events of the day over and over, as if trying to make sense of the nightmare that had unfolded.
An hour earlier, he had been in a meeting—a strategy session that was supposed to elevate him in the company. The CEO had even looked at him with admiration, praising his decisions. But that had been before the accident. That had been before everything crumbled.
He had been the one to make the call that would reduce costs by cutting corners on safety measures. It had seemed like a necessary decision at the time—an unfortunate yet unavoidable risk. But the aftermath? It was something he couldn't have prepared for. The factory floor had erupted in chaos—screams, sirens, the sickening sound of metal twisting and breaking as a colleague, Tim Reynolds, was caught in the machinery. A life lost in an instant, and with it, any hope Eric had of preserving his career.
Now, here he was, alone in his office, facing the ruins of his choices. His job had already been taken from him, the company issuing a public statement distancing themselves from him as if he were nothing more than a ghost. The severance package—if you could call it that—barely covered the bills. The weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating him.
The door to his office creaked open, and his gaze flicked upward, momentarily disoriented. Standing in the doorway was Helen, his wife. She hadn't changed her clothes yet, still wearing the blouse and slacks she had worn to work. But her expression was colder than the marble floors beneath him. Her eyes, usually warm and comforting, were now pools of sorrow and resignation.
She stepped inside, and the air seemed to grow heavier with every inch she moved toward him. "Eric," she began, her voice trembling slightly. But there was no warmth in it, no comfort. It was the voice of someone who had already made up their mind.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wanted to say something, anything, to stop her, but his words caught in his chest. What could he say? How could he explain this mess he had created? How could he beg her to stay when he had already destroyed everything?
"I can't do this anymore," she said, her voice steady despite the cracks in it. "I've tried, Eric. I've tried to help you, to stand by you, but I can't keep pretending that things are going to get better."
He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, but his legs felt weak, like they might give way at any moment. "Helen, please," he began, but his voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper. "I know I've screwed up. But I'm—"
"You're sorry? You always are, Eric. But this... this is different." Her eyes flashed with a pain he hadn't seen before. "You weren't just reckless with your job. You were reckless with our lives. And now—now I can't look at you and see the man I married. I can't be here anymore, waiting for you to change when you don't even know who you are anymore."
The words stung like a slap to the face, and he flinched, though he couldn't blame her. She had been patient, so patient for so long. But this was it. She was leaving, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.
"Where will you go?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"I don't know," she replied quietly, turning to leave. "But I have to go. I can't stay in this... in this hollow house with you. It's killing me, Eric."
She walked toward the door, her steps echoing through the empty office. With every step, the weight on Eric's chest grew heavier. He didn't move. He couldn't. He watched as she reached the door, paused for just a moment, and then stepped out into the hallway, leaving him alone with the crushing silence.
The door clicked shut, and the finality of it hit him all at once. He was alone. In every sense of the word. No job. No family. No purpose. Just the cold, unrelenting reality of his own failure.