My wife traded me
Tuesday morning hit like a freight train. I barely remembered getting out of bed, kissing Kristen goodbye while she scrolled her phone with that same bright, distracted smile from last night. She’d said something about “maybe heading down later to see if Brad needed help with anything,” but I was already half out the door, mind on the pile of reports waiting for me. For once, the knot in my stomach loosened a little during the commute. Work had a way of drowning out everything else when it got bad enough. The office was buzzing when I walked in. People huddled in small groups, whispering, coffee cups clutched like lifelines. I dropped my bag at my desk and barely had time to log in before Carlos’s voice boomed across the open floor. “Everyone. Conference room. …