I stopped to help a woman who was dy//ing on the side of the road and lost my job because I arrived late

Gavin blinked.

“What?”

“I said no.”

“Christopher.”

“You made your decision.”

“I can reverse it.”

“I don’t want you to.”

Silence.

That was the moment everything finally felt real.

Not the firing.

Not Halston Capital.

Not Eleanor.

That sentence.

I don’t want you to.

For four years, I had wanted Gavin’s approval.

Wanted him to recognize my work.

Wanted the promotion.

Wanted the corner office.

Wanted to prove I belonged.

And suddenly, none of it mattered.

Gavin looked almost wounded.

“You’re throwing away four years.”

“No.”

I picked up the cardboard box.

“You did.”

Then I began clearing my desk.

My daughter’s mug.

The headphones.

Two framed photographs.

A notebook filled with campaign concepts.

A tiny plastic astronaut Lucy had hidden inside my drawer two years earlier because she said offices were “boring without space people.”