Page 4 of A Win-Win Situation

"Leora . . ." Mike, my work husband, comes up to me and gives me a sideways hug as he walks me to my desk.

The desk I now have to clean up, once adorned with personal touches including motivational quotes tacked to the bulletin board, and a resilient succulent catching the light. Each item is a small testament to the effort I poured into this space.

"Agnes has lost her mind! You’re the best on the team," he says as I lean into him for a second or two before updating him on everything that just happened.

"You would never do that. I was with you almost the whole night," he continues. I come to an abrupt halt as a memory resurfaces. I remember excusing myself to go to the bathroom, but the rest of my recollection is a blur. Did I accidentally leave those papers out?

"I don’t know, Mike. I remember asking Agnes for her signature on the agreement, and later, I went straight to the event from the office, feeling completely drained. Everything after that is a blur. What if I accidentally brought the papers with me?"

He frowns. "It doesn’t make sense. You’re too much of a control freak to do that. She's going to realize her mistake and call you back before you return from Nice, don’t worry." He leans in closer and whispers, "I’m going to find out the truth."

I adore this man. Without him, I'm not sure how I would have navigated through everything. We all need a Mike in our lives—preferably a Mike with a husband who bakes the most heavenly chocolate chip cookies, a delightful treat he never forgets to share with me.

"Well, at least I’ll get a pre-vacation before my vacation.” I attempt to say it positively, but it comes out with a wobbly uncertainty.

"Exactly! You can visit all of those cafés with John now. The ones you’ve been harassing us about for weeks." He has a point; a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a list of the top ten breakfast places in town that I’ve been dying to try out but never found the time for. Not that John’s schedule would have allowed it, even if I could manage it.

Now, however, I seem to have all the time in the world.

I takethe stairs two at a time, in a hurry to reach my door—to reachhome. The stairs creak under my feet, reminding me of every horror movie I’ve ever watched. I live in an old building with an elevator that’s a death trap, and I hate elevators.

Three years ago, I got trapped and haven’t set foot in it since. Hours went by before I got help; all the while it felt as though the walls were caving in. Every passing minute was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread.

When they finally found me, I was lying in a fetal position, crying.

Looking back, I realize I had my first panic attack that day.

I remember how John, my boyfriend, had carried me home, laid me down on the bed and held me the whole night, comforting me until the panic subsided. He’s always been an incredible support system, and I can’t wait to get home—because at this moment, I need a lot of support.

That’s why I’m climbing six flights of stairs in a pair of high heels, to get home to John.

My heart is racing and I’m having a hard time breathing. My beautiful Aurelie Nude Jimmy Choo’s don’t deserve this. I got these shoes to celebrate doing a good job at work.

Scratch that.IthoughtI was doing a good job.

My feet ache, but I don’t care—I just want to be home.

How am I going to help pay rent? Buy food?

I sigh, hoping that John will be the voice of reason, reassuring me that we will figure it out. That he will help cover bills until I’m back on my feet.

John and I have been through some rough patches this past year. His music career is growing, which is incredible because itmeans he's reaching his goals, but it also means he doesn't have a lot of time for me anymore.

We met at a bar one night when he was performing, and I was immediately drawn to him. I remember seeing him on stage, so shy and sweet. He walked up to his seat on the stage, barely looking at the audience. I could feel his nervousness, and my heart went out to him.

But then the lights centered on him, and his fingers started plucking on the strings of his guitar. He looked straight at me, with those sparkling blue eyes and a smile so sweet it could rival the warmth of a summer sun. It was as if he drew the courage from me because when he looked back over the audience, he was filled with confidence. I remember being irresistibly attracted to him and wanting him, one way or another.

Since that night, he’s grown quite a following, most of whom are beautiful women.

And honestly, some days, I’m not sure I like it.

I'm happy that he gets to do what he loves—he deserves it. But a part of me feels like I always come second and that I’m replaceable. When I dwell on it too much, a sense of uselessness and insignificance consumes me.

My heart beats faster at all these intrusive thoughts, and the failure of today isn’t helping. As I approach my floor, a small part of me is nervous to tell him what happened. I know he’ll say I deserve better, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like I failed.

I knowI deserve better. I deserve to work at a place where I’m valued—where I can learn and evolve. Momentum Marketing wasn’t the right fit. I’m better than them.

When I finally reach my door, my heart is beating way too hard, I’m sweating, and I’m seeing black spots. I really need to start working out.

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