❀ Amy ❀
The conference room felt colder than usual that morning. I had turned on the small space heater Paul kept tucked behind the bookshelf, but it did little to warm the tension in the air. The walls were lined with shelves of legal binders and framed degrees, the window shades drawn halfway to let in enough light without making it feel like we were being watched. Karen sat across from me at the polished table, hands tightly clasped in her lap. Her nails were bare, chipped remnants of a previous polish that clung to a few of them, forgotten in the storm her life had become. Paul finally entered, crisp in his navy-blue suit, legal pad in one hand and a manila folder in the other.
“Morning, ladies,” he greeted us, and Karen looked up with a polite nod.
“Morning,” she whispered, and I
