The Wistful Saga
The letter lay on the blotter, its edges curling slightly in the dry heat of the office, the ink smudged where Phyllis Oakes had pressed her thumb against it too hard while reading. It was a dismissal notice, drafted but not yet signed, the words incompetence and gross negligence arranged in a neat, bureaucratic column that seemed to mock the trembling in her hands. She was thirty-four years...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews