…\u201chave a seat.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Henderson\u2019s face was completely unreadable as I sank into the leather chair across from his desk. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was sure Sarah had gone straight to him with a twisted version of our argument, claiming I was wasting company time.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m so sorry about the knitting,\u201d I blurted out, unable to hold it in. \u201cI only do it during my scheduled fifteen-minute breaks and my lunch hour. I swear it doesn’t affect my productivity. I just need the extra money for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Mr. Henderson held up a hand, silencing me. He sighed heavily and turned his desktop monitor around to face me. On the screen was the muted, black-and-white security feed from the employee breakroom.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou aren’t in trouble,\u201d he said gently. \u201cBut we need to talk about what happened yesterday at 1:15 PM.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pressed play. I watched the silent footage of Sarah cornering me by the microwave, demanding the intricate, merino-wool blanket I was painstakingly crafting. I watched myself shake my head no. Then, I watched Sarah\u2019s face twist into an ugly snarl as she delivered her vile parting words.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe cameras don’t record audio,\u201d Mr. Henderson explained, his voice tightening with anger. \u201cBut our department supervisor was sitting in the adjoining kitchenette. He heard everything. He also saw what Sarah did after you left the room.\u201d<\/p>\n
He fast-forwarded the video. On the screen, the moment I walked out, Sarah grabbed my knitting bag. She pulled out the $200 skeins of hand-dyed yarn, marched over to the industrial trash can, and poured a half-empty cup of dark roast coffee directly into the bag before shoving it deep into the garbage.<\/p>\n
I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth. I hadn’t even checked the bag yet this morning.<\/p>\n
\u201cI had security retrieve your bag last night before the cleaning crew emptied the bins,\u201d Mr. Henderson said. He reached behind his desk and pulled out a brand-new, identical canvas tote. Inside were three fresh, perfectly wrapped skeins of the exact same expensive yarn. \u201cI did a little digging online to find the same dye lot. Sarah\u2019s final paycheck has been docked to cover the cost of the replacement.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHer… final paycheck?\u201d I repeated, stunned.<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah\u2019s employment has been terminated effective immediately,\u201d he said flatly. \u201cWe do not tolerate that level of maliciousness or toxicity in this office. Period.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tears immediately pricked my eyes, a tidal wave of relief washing over me. But Mr. Henderson wasn’t finished.<\/p>\n
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers. \u201cOur supervisor also mentioned why you’re knitting. I didn’t know about your mother’s illness. Human Resources has a discretionary fund for employees dealing with severe family medical crises. We are going to expedite a grant to help cover some of her outstanding hospital bills. And as for the blankets…”<\/p>\n
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “My wife\u2019s birthday is in two months. She loves handmade items. I\u2019d like to commission two blankets. Name your price, and consider it paid upfront.\u201d<\/p>\n
I walked out of his office that morning in an absolute daze, clutching the fresh yarn to my chest.<\/p>\n
Three weeks later, I sat by my mother’s hospital bed. Her breathing was shallow, but her eyes were bright and focused as I draped the finished, incredibly soft blanket over her frail shoulders. She ran her fingers over the intricate stitches, a weak but genuine smile spreading across her face. She didn’t die before I finished it. In fact, wrapped in the warmth of that blanket, she finally looked like she was ready to fight.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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