I didn’t react.
I just kept working.
But I paid attention.
By Friday, I understood something clearly.
Vanessa wasn’t just confident.
She was certain.
Certain of a place that didn’t belong to her.
At lunch, the kitchen was loud.
Microwaves humming.
Voices overlapping.
The clatter of trays and cutlery filling every empty space.
I stood near the counter, waiting, scrolling through emails I wasn’t really reading.
And then I saw it.
A glass of water.
Clear.
Untouched.
Placed beside a leather portfolio marked with his initials.
N.H.
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