Skip lunch

Emily stared at her inbox a moment longer, that low, gnawing edge of hunger curling in her belly. She hadn’t had time for a real lunch—there hadn’t been the appetite for it either—but she knew she needed something.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the large Snickers bar and a single-serve cup of mandarin oranges she’d packed that morning, just in case. Her first day back kit, tucked between her laptop and a ziplock of baby wipes, next to a clean nursing pad she hadn’t used yet.

She peeled the wrapper back on the candy and took a slow bite. It was dense, sweet, sticky with caramel. Mechanical chewing followed. Then the foil top of the oranges came off with a soft snap, syrupy juice sloshing slightly.

She tipped the cup, swallowing the fruit without real enthusiasm. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough lately.

But it would have to do.

By the time she stood and slung her bag over one shoulder, she was composed. Enough to walk the quiet hallway toward HR.

She rounded the corner, Martin’s door just ahead—

—and almost collided with Richard Levanthal, the company’s founder and owner. A man in his early fifties, hair silvered at the temples, sharp suit a touch rumpled like he’d been in back-to-back meetings all morning.

“Whoa—Emily!” he said, stepping back with a low chuckle. His hand went gently to her elbow, steadying her before he released. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

She blinked. “Mr. Levanthal—Richard. Hi. I was just heading in to sign some HR paperwork.”

He smiled, warm but observant. “Back in the fire already, huh? Brave woman.”

“I’m trying to catch up fast,” she said.

“Well, I’ve heard good things already,” he said. “Your name’s been coming up—in a good way.”

Then, without missing a beat, he nodded toward the door. “Martin in there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll walk in with you,” he said. “Been meaning to check in on some policy tweaks anyway. Hope you don’t mind the company.”

Before she could answer, Richard had already turned the handle and opened the door.