"This contract is the most demanding we've taken on this quarter," the operations manager announced to the room, tapping a thick folder against the conference table. "It'll require overtime. Late nights. Weekends. But the budget allocation is generous and the bonus will reflect the effort. Does anyone want it?"
"I'll do it."
Every head in the room turned. My colleagues stared as though I had pulled a gun at a christening. The operations manager, a sharp-eyed woman named Lorena who had always treated me with quiet respect, hesitated.
"Mia, what about your husband? And you're expecting, aren't you? We assumed you'd be taking leave soon."
"Unfortunately, I had a miscarriage." The words left my mouth flat and clean, like a blade drawn from its sheath. "I won't be needing any leave."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Lorena dismissed the others with a terse nod, and one by one they filed out, none of them meeting my eyes. When the conference room door clicked shut, it was just the two of us beneath the cold fluorescent light.
"Mia." Lorena folded her hands on the table, her expression careful. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping, but is everything alright between you and your husband?"