Amelia hadnât been in since last week. At first, I thought maybe she was taking time off. It was a long weekend, after all, and she had earned the break more than most. Tuesday came and went. Nothing from her. No message. No ping on Slack. Just silence. By Wednesday, the silence had started to feel deliberate.
Now it was Thursday morning, and her office was still empty. Not just empty, but untouched. The blinds were half open like they always were. The chair tucked in. Notebooks stacked neatly. It looked less like someone on leave and more like someone who had vanished in the middle of a workday.
I stood outside her office door for a few seconds, letting the hallway traffic move past me. Phones were ringing somewhere down the corridor. A printer clicked and whirred. I could hear someone down in Records laughing too loudly about something that probably wasnât that funny.
I stepped inside and tapped the trackpad of her computer. Still locked. No one had logged in. I checked her calendar again, though I already knew there wouldnât be anything there. No personal day request. No doctorâs appointment. No out-of-office message.
Amelia wasnât the kind of person who just didnât show up.
I left her office and walked the long stretch toward the south end of the building, toward the corner offices. I didnât walk quickly, but my steps felt heavier than usual against the polished floor.
I didnât knock when I got to Godwinâs door. He looked up from his monitor, his mouth already tightening. The desk in front of him was clean except for a mug and a stack of papers with tidy notes scribbled down the margin. Heâd been doing that more latelyâkeeping things organized, keeping things quiet. Like if he moved slowly enough, he might avoid attention. After my verbal beating last week, I didnât blame him.
âAmelia hasnât been in all week,â I said, not bothering to sit. âDo you know where she is?â
Godwin kept his face even. âMaybe you should ask her that yourself.â
âIâve tried,â I said. âShe hasnât answered. Not one message. Not even a read receipt.â
He didnât say anything, just kept his eyes on mine like he was waiting for something.
âSheâs part of this team. Disappearing without notice isnât normal for her,â I said. âAre you covering for her?â I felt the words stick in my throat.
He leaned back in his chair. âIâm not covering for anyone. Iâm respecting someoneâs privacy.â
âYouâve already had a warning about this,â I said. âYou want another write-up?â
There was a long pause. He didnât move. He didnât fidget. Just sat there like a stone.
âIf youâre hiding something that affects this office, youâll be fired.â I heard the edge in my voice and couldnât quite soften it. âIâm not playing games here.â It was an empty threat, but he didnât know that. I was the boss; he just took orders.
Godwin gave me a look I couldnât quite read. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk like he was settling in. âIâve already told you,â he said quietly, âIâm respecting her privacy.â
I stepped forward. âIf sheâs sick, or somethingâs happened, and youâre sitting on it like itâs not your problem â¦â
âI donât know what you think I know,â he said, not looking at me now, eyes drifting toward the corner of his desk. âIâm not dating her or sleeping with her.â His words slapped with accusation. Had she told him about us when she promised to keep our arrangement confidential?
âYouâve already had a warning,â I snapped. âThis is exactly the kind of thing that put you on thin ice in the first placeâcrossing lines you werenât invited to cross.â
Godwinâs fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his mug. He still didnât meet my eyes.
âIâm not crossing any line,â he said. âIâm staying out of it.â
âWhich is funny, because youâre not out of it,â I said. âYou know something. Youâve been talking to her.â
âI didnât say that.â
âYou didnât have to.â
He finally looked up. âYou want to help her? Then stop trying to do it through me. Youâre not going to get what youâre after here.â
I took a breath and exhaled through my nose. âIf sheâs not back in by Monday, Iâll escalate it. I donât care who likes it or who doesnât. This stops being a personal matter if it starts affecting her performanceâor yours.â
He nodded once, slow and silent, like heâd expected that. I stared at him another beat, waiting for anythingâregret, worry, even fearâbut he gave me nothing. I knew if I stayed there talking to him, Iâd tear into him again and make myself look even more foolish, so I walked away scratching my head, worrying that what Iâd said the last time I saw her really had hurt her that badly.
Iâd sent a half a dozen messages to her already asking her to reach out, but sheâd said nothing. Any other time, sheâd have been in my office with her panties down waiting, and thinking that only made me feel like the sleazeball I was. Who in his right mind would ask a woman to have sex with him whenever he wanted and think emotions wouldnât get mixed up in it?
I went back to my office, closed the door a little harder than I meant to, and dropped into the chair behind my desk.
The screen was still up from earlierâsome report Iâd been picking at all morningâbut the numbers didnât mean anything now. I scrolled through two paragraphs of data before realizing I hadnât read a single line. My mind kept drifting, circling the same thing over and over. Where the hell was she?
I minimized the window and grabbed my phone from the corner of the desk. There were three unread emails, one flagged report, and a calendar invite I didnât remember accepting. I ignored all of it. I opened my messages and scrolled until her name appeared. There were already four unanswered texts from earlier in the week. A simple Hey, you good? on Tuesday. Another one on WednesdayâNeed to talk. Call when you can. Nothing back.
I stared at the blinking cursor for too long before I allowed myself to send yet another message.
Xander: 8:23 AM: Where are you? Whatâs going on? Are you coming back to work?
I hit send and watched the message go through.
Then I started another one. Deleted it. Typed it again.
Xander: 8:27 AM: I need you.
It didnât sound like me, not even in my head. It sounded like something I wouldnât say unless I was drunk or dying. But I stared at it, thumb hovering over the screen, and I knew if I didnât send it now, I never would. I sent it.
It sat there on the screen, blue bubble, no reply. I waited. I kept waiting, telling myself she was just busy, or maybe asleep, or out. But she always had her phone on her. Always.
I tossed the phone face down on the desk and leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my face. My palms were cold.
I didnât know what I wanted her to say. I just wanted to know she was there. Iâd told myself, from the beginning, that this wasnât anything serious. That it didnât have to be complicated. But it was. It had been for a while. She didnât feel like something casual anymore. She hadnât for a long time, and Iâd been lying to myself about how often I looked for her in the office, or how much I liked hearing her laugh when she forgot to be careful around me. That message wasnât just me checking in. It was me giving something away. And she wasnât responding.
I picked up the phone and checked it again, throwing out another fast message.
Xander: 8:39 AM: Please just let me know youâre okay.
No dots. No read receipt. Just silence.
Eventually, I set it beside the keyboard and turned back to the screen, trying to shake it off. There was work to do. Reports piling up. People waiting on decisions. I opened the file Iâd meant to finish earlier, the same one Iâd been pretending to care about for the past hour. The numbers looked the same. The language was just as dry. I scrolled halfway through it, not taking in a word, then clicked out of it again.
An alert popped up in the corner of the screenâa new email. My eyes flicked to it automatically.
The subject line was simpleâordinary.
From: Amelia Johnson
Sent: 8:41 AM
Subject: Resignation
At first, it didnât register. The personal address threw meâone I hadnât seen since the early months, back when we were still keeping things casual, when she sent over project notes late at night and always followed up with a sarcastic emoji. I stared at the screen, my hand frozen on the mouse.
I clicked.
Dear Mr. Blackwell,
I am writing to formally tender my resignation from my position, effective immediately. I have ensured that all of my current assignments are either completed or appropriately delegated, and I have collected all of my personal belongings. There is no need for further contact regarding my departure.
I would like to take this opportunity to express my appreciation for the time I spent with the organization. The experience has been valuable in expanding my skills, and I am grateful for the trust and responsibility I was given during my tenure. I will carry the lessons learned here into my future endeavors.
Please consider this letter my final communication regarding my role. I wish you and the team continued success.
Sincerely,
Amelia Johnson
I read it once, then again, slower. My stomach dropped halfway through the second reading and didnât stop. There was no explanation. No softness. Nothing to suggest sheâd even hesitated. She was gone. Just like that.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen like maybe it would change if I waited long enough. But the words stayed exactly the same. Clinical. Final.
She hadnât told me. Not when I asked where she was. Not when I said I needed her. I thought that message meant something, that maybe it would shift something in her, open a door that had been stuck halfway shut. But she hadnât even read it. Sheâd already decided.
I sat there, barely breathing. There was no anger in me, not yet. Just a slow, growing weight in my chest, like something was being lowered into it, one brick at a time. I thought I had more time. I thought this wasnât over. She didnât feel like something temporary anymore, not in the way she used to. I didnât even notice when that changed, not really, but it had. And I had no idea what to do with the way it hurt to realize I might never see her again.
I hadnât said how I felt. I hadnât figured out how to say it. I wasnât even sure I fully understood it until now.
But she was already gone. And I was in love.