Play with her

Ruby appears at the edge of your cubicle a short while later, coffee in hand, expression open and familiar in the way it has always been. She leans against the partition with the same easy posture she has used for years of candid corridor chats.

“You look like the morning already won,” she says, voice light. “Everything all right at home? Natasha seemed a bit off when I messaged her earlier.”

She is acting as if she knows nothing. The sisterly concern sits on her face exactly as it always has. No flicker of awareness that you walked in on the truth only hours ago. No sign that Natasha has told her the confrontation happened. Either the message has not reached her yet or she is playing the role with complete commitment.

You look at her for a moment and the realisation lands cleanly. It is Thursday. She will be expecting the usual afternoon or evening visit. The rhythm she and Natasha have kept for four months. The thought of disrupting it rises fast and sharp, carrying a sudden surge of vindictiveness that feels almost clarifying after the morning’s injustice.

You keep your voice even.

“Actually I am heading home early today. Need to sort a few things. Tell Natasha I will be back by mid-afternoon if you speak to her.”

The words are casual. The effect is not. Ruby’s expression holds steady, but something small tightens behind her eyes for half a second before the friendly mask settles again. You feel the vindictive satisfaction settle in your chest as she processes the sudden change to a schedule she thought was still intact. The conversation continues for another minute of ordinary office talk, but the ground between you has already shifted, and she knows it even if she has not yet been told the full reason why.