The email pinged on my phone just as I was stepping into the office. It was supposed to be a routine check of the holiday card layout before it went to print. But as I glanced at the screen, my name was there—bold and glaring. Someone had mistakenly attached my name to the photo instead of the usual placeholder. I felt my hands clench around the phone, the digital document staring back at me with quiet menace. The room was silent, save for the clicking of keyboards. No one made eye contact when I asked who had last edited the file. The silence was deafening, a quiet acknowledgment that something was awry.
I sat down in my cubicle, my mind racing with questions. Who was behind this? And why? The meeting to discuss this was scheduled for the next day, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. I needed answers, and I needed them soon. The rest of the day was a blur of emails and tense glances. My supervisor, a usually chatty man, avoided my eye as he passed by my desk.
At lunch, I sat with my usual group, but the conversation felt stilted. « Did you see the new design? » someone asked, but I barely heard the response. My mind was still on the email, the error that couldn’t have been a simple mistake.
As the day drew to a close, I gathered my things, my heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty. The office was quiet, the usual chatter replaced by a tense silence. I knew tomorrow would bring answers, but until then, all I could do was wait.
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