The next day, Valerie walked into the office, distracted and preoccupied. The anticipation of this day was daunting enough, but adding her husband's betrayal to the mix pushed it over the top. Her chest was still bound, but it was clearly more substantial than before—impossible not to notice. Self-consciousness enveloped her; her new breasts seemed to scream, Look at me! Look at me! Avoiding eye contact, she headed inside. She hadn't had a chance to shop for new shirts, so she decided the stretchy pink pullover and simple black slacks were her best bet for disguising the enhancement.
Doubt from the night before haunted her. Morning had thrown the reality of her choices into sharp focus, and in the light of day, they looked deeply suspect. She glanced at the wedding ring on her finger and gave it a quick spin. Maybe I shouldn't have been so hasty. Still, is that enough to blow everything up?
And yet, what truly haunted her wasn't what she'd done—it was how long it had taken her to admit she needed to do it.
How long did I know I needed to bail?
If she were honest, it had been years—years she could have spent making her life better instead of staying pinned beneath an antiquated commitment. Lost in doubt and second-guessing, she jumped when the phone on her desk rang. Reaching for it, she shoved her misgivings aside and forced herself back into work mode.
"Dog Spaulding's office," she said by rote.
In her accented voice, the caller said, "Hi, Val. It's Luna. I'm calling in an official capacity, FYI."
Valerie smiled and said, "Well, then I'll use my official voice, too."
"I'm serious. I want to discuss the systems administration job you applied for. You were the perfect candidate, so I recommended you to the supervisor, Matt Kramer. He looked over your résumé and application and got pretty excited when he saw your degree."
Valerie sat up straighter, excitement bubbling up that momentarily washed away her fears.
"Really? Oh wow, that's great. What did he say?" she asked, sitting up straighter as hope flickered to life.
Let it be this time. Let this be the call. Let the universe tell me I did the right thing.
Luna drew in a deep breath and paused. "That's why I'm calling. Because the job involves switching departments, policy says he has to talk with your director. So, Matt talked to Dog and asked for his thoughts. Dog killed the whole thing. He told Matt you weren't going anywhere and that he should look for someone else. As I'm sure you know, supervisors can cancel any lateral move within the system. Now, this isn't actually a lateral move—it's a promotion—but he didn't seem to care."
A shovel to the back of the head couldn't have stunned Valerie more. She sat frozen behind her desk, trapped in more ways than one.
"Val, you still there? I feel awful about this, so I had to let you know I tried."
Panic sharpened her voice. "Can we call Matt and tell him it's my choice— that I want that job?"
Luna replied, "Too late. He gave it to someone else."
Val groaned and dropped her head. After two deep, miserable breaths, she said, "Thanks for letting me know." Oh, fuck you, universe.
Then she had a thought. "Wait, Luna, do you have my file in front of you?" "I do. Why?" Luna asked.
"I got a call from Junnie a few weeks back, and she said I'd been up for another job—another admin spot, I think. Can you tell me why I didn't get that one?"
Luna paused. "I'm not supposed to give out that kind of information. We have a strict..." She stopped talking.
Valerie asked, "Luna, are you still there?"
Val could hear a keyboard clicking in the background. Then she heard Luna say under her breath, "Ese hijo de puta."
With mounting desperation, Val pleaded, "Luna, what's going on?" Luna came back on the line. "Okay. While I was explaining why I couldn't give you any information, which had to be my official stance—I was going to give it to you anyway—I was scrolling through your file." She paused, as if searching for the least awful way to say what came next. "It looks like you were the first choice for five other jobs within the company. Every one of them, Dog denied your availability."
Valerie jerked upright, as if someone had snapped a rubber band against her. "What?" she blurted, completely bewildered.
"Yeah, I'm so sorry, Val. I didn't know this. I should have looked closer. Damn. This is outrageous. It's one thing to want to keep your staff intact, but this is just plain mean and selfish."
Valerie's face turned beet red. Her lips pursed and her nostrils flared. "Luna, when was the first job offered?"
A second passed and Luna said, "Six weeks ago." Valerie closed her eyes and drew several deep breaths. Her feet tapped a staccato rhythm against the floor.
"I've applied for six jobs over the past six weeks. And every single one, I got—then Dog took it away from me? That's what you're saying?"
Valerie heard Luna groan. "It looks that way. Valerie, this is a shitty thing to do. I'm going to put this in my report. We'll get it addressed."
Valerie seethed. "Thank you, Luna. Not that it'll make a difference—the jobs are gone."
"If I can make this right, I will. You know I will," Luna said, genuine in her concern.
"Thanks, sweetie. You're a real friend. I gotta go."
As if in slow motion, Val set the receiver back in its cradle. Then, with a death stare forming, she turned and glared at Dog through the glass wall of his office. He had a phone pressed to his ear, and his little traitor face was twisted with laughter, as if whatever he was hearing was the funniest thing in the world.
He laughs while I wallow.
Her eyes narrowed; had she had heat vision, Dog would be in flames. The rage inside her built until it exploded like Vesuvius. Waves of vitriol-filled molten lava began to roll downhill. Jumping up, Valerie stormed into Dog's office, malice in her eyes. He didn't acknowledge her.
She slammed the door, rattling the window and blinds.
That got his attention. He looked up from his phone call, took one look at her face, and said, "I gotta call you back."
Dog hung up. "Val, is something wrong?" He flashed his white-toothed smile, ready to offer whatever fake remedy he thought would smooth things over.
She stepped to his desk. "Yes, there's something wrong. I was about to get a promotion, for the sixth time, and you killed it. You stole my opportunity for a better job. What the hell, Dog?"
Dog pursed his lips and inhaled. "I didn't think you had enough experience to do those other jobs." Then, as though throwing down his trump card, he said, "And besides, you need a degree to qualify, and I don't believe you have that."
Locking eyes with him, she said, "You know I do. You were the first person I told—the morning I found out."
Dog stammered, "I don't remember that."
"It was my birthday. I found out just minutes before you came in. We had all those new licenses to set up. I told you then."
"Valerie, I must have forgotten. I'm so sorry. Besides, you are much too valuable here for me to let you go." Dog's voice was calm and matter-of-fact as he attempted to sweep this whole situation under the rug.
Valerie stepped closer to the desk. "Not long ago, you put me on notice. You said you'd been getting bad reports about my performance. Now I'm too valuable to let go?" She was trembling as her anger climbed higher.
Dog opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He shook his head and finally managed to say, "Valerie, let's take a breath." His recent behavior suddenly made perfect sense.
"Is this why you've been on my ass all this time? To distract me from finding a better job?
Dog mumbled, but nothing distinct came out.
"I'm moving on with my life, and I have no intention of sitting at that desk for the rest of it. I worked my ass off for six years to earn that degree. I'm not letting some bureaucratic asshole steal that from me. You have two choices right now: call HR and get me that promotion, or shove this job up your ass."
She could see Dog struggling. She had never spoken to him like this before, and he had no idea how to handle it.
"Okay, okay, let's just calm down. At the end of the day, I am the one who decides who is promoted. That's why I'm the boss. I rely on you too much and can't let you go."
His even-keeled, steady, unemotional demeanor contrasted with Valerie's roiling temper.
"Dog, in seven years, you've never once given me a compliment—never offered a word of encouragement. I drag myself in here every day, expecting to be passive-aggressively belittled. Valuable? Bullshit. You're just too fucking lazy to train someone new. No—I'm not your servant. I'm not your slave. And I am done being your whipping post. So, what's it gonna be?"
She stood tall and solid, and her stature conveyed her commitment.
Dog blinked, and then he called her bluff. "Look, Valerie, let's be honest, you aren't going to find a better job than the one you have. You're just not management material. So, I suggest you show some gratitude that I'm not firing you after this little tantrum of yours. Now, get back to work before I change my mind."
And there it was—her complete and utter dismissal.
She dropped her head as an ironic laugh escaped her lips. A deep inhale and a crystal-clear realization followed.
Valerie Stewart was done.
The wasted years in this place with Dog and HR and office shit; the worthless years with Rod; the feelings of inadequacy and failure; the frustration and total lack of control over her own life, all fell on her like a car crusher squashing an '87 Ford.
Flashing a venomous smile, she walked out of the office. With each step away from Dog, her mood lightened. With each step away from the job, her future brightened.
She ripped the beleaguered monkey of mistakes off her back and threw them away. No more should-haves. No more I can't. No more doubt.
At her desk, she grabbed her backpack and looked around for anything else she wanted to take. Everyone keeps something personal in a cubicle or office— you see it all the time. People quit or get fired, and suddenly a file box appears, carrying years of service out to the street in a pathetic cardboard carton.
A quick inventory of the space where she'd sat for seven years turned up nothing but her kangaroo, the gift from Luna. She grabbed that and tossed it into her backpack.
Seven years and this is my takeaway.
A small, framed photo of her and Rod sat in one corner of the desk.
Fuck that.
An insignificant houseplant—one she had to keep replacing because there wasn't enough light to keep it alive—occupied the other. A nameplate and a scattering of office supplies rounded out the remnants of her life in that office. She wanted none of it.
She slammed both hands onto her desk with a loud crack that silenced the entire office.
Looking up, she found every eye on her. She swung her backpack over one shoulder and shouted, "All right, people, I'm out of here! I'm making a clean break! I'm walking out of here a free woman—free of all this bullshit, and all the bullshit behind me." She turned toward Dog's office and found him standing in the doorway, his jaw all but hanging open. She flipped him off.
"Fuck you, Dog." She turned back to her co-workers. "Anything I leave, feel free to grab. There is nothing here anymore that is me."
She looked down at the desk and saw the nameplate. Picking it up, she read it aloud: "Valerie Stewart: Assistant to the Director." A disgusted laugh broke out of her. Holding it up for everyone to see, she yelled, "Who the hell is Valerie Stewart? Sounds like some lame-ass wimp with no confidence and no ambition. Screw her! I'm not that pathetic little creature anymore, not some sycophant who only gets whatever this stinking world tosses her way."
Valerie drop-kicked her nameplate across the office, barely missing a junior assistant's head. She stormed toward the elevator, bopping the back of every head she passed. As the elevator doors closed, she turned, yanked down her slacks, and mooned the entire office.
Valerie skipped out of TDLR, her seven-year sentence commuted. She jumped into her truck and drove straight to her bank. The plan was to empty the accounts and let Rod fend for himself.
"Hi, I'd like to close my accounts please." Val said to the smiling teller. She slid her debit card under the glass partition and the eager man went straight to work.
"Okay, it appears that you have a balance of $100 in checking and $100 in savings. Is that correct?"
"What?!" Val burst out. "No, there should be almost $2,000 in savings and $1,800 in checking. What the hell!"
The teller checked his screen again and said, "It appears that a withdrawal was made at 9:04 this morning."
Valerie's eyes nearly jumped out of her skull. "That son of a bitch! Really, there's only $200 left between them?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, but that is all there is."
Valerie wanted to punch the glass in front of her. Her face was crimson red, and her hands were tight in fists.
"That asshole. Figures. He always was a slimy little bastard." She took a moment to get herself under control and then said, "Okay, then. I have another account. Here's the card. I want to close this one out."
The teller took the card and ran it through his system. "Well, this is better.
Looks like there's a substantial amount here. $10,459. How would you like it?"
After seven years of saving, the account wasn't as robust as it had been before the breast augmentation, but it was still a nest egg.
"Cashier's check would be fine, thanks. And close out the other two as well.
$200 is $200, right?"
She drove to the next bank she saw and opened a new account in her name alone. This money wasn't a long-term answer, but she wouldn't be on the street anytime soon.
As Valerie drove toward that hellhole of an apartment, it became clear that this break needed to be as clean as possible. Leaving Rod, leaving the job, leaving the old Valerie behind—it followed that she should leave the apartment too, the deadweight shackle of her indentured life.
Stopping at the office, she handed in her notice. The manager barely looked up, accepting it with the weary indifference of someone who'd seen a hundred tenants come and go. To him, a decade of residency was nothing more than another line on the day's paperwork—nothing special, nothing memorable. However, to be fair, she didn't know his name either.
Walking into the apartment, refreshed, recharged, and free, her arms opened wide to embrace the world. Knowing she only had to endure this abysmal excuse for a living space for a few more weeks filled her with a gleeful exuberance. A childhood memory bubbled up: the thrill of staying home sick from school, the guilty pleasure of knowing everyone else was stuck in class while she lounged in bed watching TV. She let out a triumphant whoop, savoring the sweet taste of freedom that had eluded her for so long.
"So, this is what happiness feels like? I think I'm going to like it here." Using her phone, she fired up her Bluetooth speaker and cranked up Shania, Faith, Miranda, and Carrie, with a little Taylor mixed in—for which Mark and Tommi had teased her endlessly.
Too damn bad. I love this music!
Pouring a glass of wine, the day drinking began. "Hey, you can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning!" she tittered. Sauntering over to the balcony door, she looked down into the parking lot.
Lo and behold, Rod was picking up his junk off the asphalt.
Her instinct was to run down there and make him give her the money back.
He had no right to take it. Then again, she was going to do the same thing, so.
He's gonna need it more than me.
Turning away from the lot, she closed the curtains and left Rod, his truck, and his issues behind.