Chapter 3
Out of Place
Emma had always believed work would be different.
Home belonged to Mark.
Work belonged to her.
Her desk sat perfectly centered beneath the office window. Pens lined up by color. Sticky notes stacked into an even square. Her keyboard sat exactly parallel with the edge of the desk. Nothing accidental. Nothing distracting.
It was the one place she could breathe.
She wrapped both hands around her coffee as she read her emails.
A reply.
Delete.
A reminder.
Archive.
Another message.
Answer.
Simple.
Orderly.
Control.
For almost ten minutes, the morning stayed exactly as it should.
Then she noticed the picture frame.
It hung outside her office, just enough off-center that anyone walking past would never give it a second thought.
Emma tried not to look at it again.
She lowered her eyes to the screen.
Leave it alone.
She answered another email.
The frame was still crooked.
Her jaw tightened.
Leave it alone.
A coworker walked by carrying a stack of folders, bumped the wall with a shoulder, and kept going without realizing the frame had shifted even farther.
Emma stared.
Someone else would fix it.
No one did.
She stood, stepped into the hallway, straightened the frame with two careful fingertips, and returned to her desk.
The knot in her chest loosened.
For a moment.
She sat down.
Across the room, a filing cabinet drawer sat open a few inches.
A chair in the conference room wasn’t pushed in.
Three binders leaned against one another instead of standing straight.
A coffee mug rested on top of a stack of client files, leaving a faint ring of moisture.
Most people never would have noticed.
Emma noticed everything.
She clicked her mouse.
The cursor blinked.
The open drawer caught her eye again.
Leave it alone.
She tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her.
Numbers blurred together.
Instead, different numbers slipped quietly into her thoughts.
One…
Two…
Three…
Her heartbeat settled into the rhythm.
Four…
Five…
Six…
She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples.
Stop.
The count didn’t.
Seven…
Eight…
Nine…
She pushed back from her desk.
The filing drawer first.
Slide.
Click.
Closed.
The chair.
Straight.
The binders.
Even.
The coffee mug.
Moved onto a coaster.
Each correction bought only a second of relief before her eyes searched for the next thing that didn’t belong.
By lunchtime she had accomplished almost nothing.
Her inbox was still full.
Her report sat unfinished.
Yet every cabinet, chair, picture frame, and stack of papers within sight looked exactly as they should.
No one said a word.
No one noticed.
Emma sank back into her chair and stared at her monitor.
The office was quiet.
Orderly.
Perfect.
So why couldn’t she feel the same?