Head pounding, I check Philomena's joining date, then run through a mental tally of everything that has gone wrong lately. The small disasters, throwing us off course every day; the rat sightings and broken elevator. The way it felt like she hated me at first, her teeth clenched behind every smile. Even the damn coffee.
Christ, I... I feel sick. And as the room spins around me, my heartbeat loud in my ears, the office door swings open.
"Got your note," Philomena calls, her steps bouncy as she heads for me. She's in that green dress again, the same one from her first day, and her wide smile seems real. Is everything between us a lie?
No. No.
I'm jumping to conclusions. I'm—I'm overtired and paranoid, and there will be an explanation for this. There must be.
She's my Philomena. She is.
