When my husband fired his assistant, he didn’t bother telling me until dinner.
“Budget cuts,” he said casually, passing me the salt.
“Nothing personal.”
I nodded. I had heard the word so many times it barely meant anything anymore.
What I didn’t know then was that firing her wasn’t a financial decision.
It was a mistake.
A fatal one.
The email arrived that night, long after my husband had fallen asleep.
It wasn’t sent to his work address.
It wasn’t even careful.
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