How To Remove Notifications

Out of the blue, I get a call from the Department of Labor. The officer tells me they received a complaint, accusing me of gender discrimination. Apparently, my treatment of the male and female employees is extremely unequal. I'm left feeling utterly bewildered. Out of compassion for my employees, I give the female employees paid leave during their periods and pregnancy. I also give the male employees the benefit of a family support allowance. I've never discriminated against anyone because of their gender, and neither have I ever mistreated any of the employees. But then, I proceed to see the social media post that has gone viral. "A certain company gives male employees an additional allowance of a thousand dollars a month! Male and female employees are given different treatment!" Having caught on right away, I call a staff meeting and announce, "All of the company benefits have been canceled. You will only receive the basic benefits listed in your employment contract." Everyone goes up in arms.

The new intern, Cynthia Joller, had posted about me online, claiming the company had made them use their leave for team building. No one wanted to fly all the way to an island to spend time with colleagues. However, what the internet did not know was that our company's team-building tradition involved booking a top-notch five-star resort every year: all-inclusive, family-friendly, with an extra three days of paid leave, and a $30,000 budget per person. The whole internet dubbed me a cold-blooded capitalist, so I decided to give in to their demands and issued a notice. [In response to employee feedback and to honor personal time, this year's team-building retreat has been canceled. Instead, a $500 allowance for personal travel will be provided.] The notice stirred up a commotion in the company. Long-time employees gathered at my office door, pleading for the return of the sunny Madiles retreat.

My fiancé, Lucas Vance, had an absolute rule: he never, under any circumstances, answered a phone call after 9:00 p.m. Even during the most passionate days of our relationship, he would hang up without hesitation the second the clock struck nine. One night, I came home late and realized a stranger was tailing me in the dark. Panic-stricken, I called Lucas, only to be met with a voice dripping with utter annoyance. "Can you learn to respect my schedule for once? I'm hanging up." That night, I sat alone in the cold lights of the police station, filling out a police report by myself. Yet, back then, I convinced myself I didn't even have the right to blame him. But tonight, while using his laptop, I accidentally stumbled across his synced call logs. There, staring back at me, was a continuous record spanning from 9:00 p.m. to 9:00 a.m. the following morning. 12 hours straight. Every night. For five long years. I knew the number perfectly. It belonged to his mother's star student and his trusted teaching assistant. For a moment, my spine felt stiff. I sat frozen in front of the screen until my legs went numb. Then, without a word, I shut the laptop and canceled our upcoming appointment to register our marriage. That late-night line was never meant for me. And I no longer wanted to wait.

"Ms. Smith, a complaint has been filed with HR. You have been accused of misusing your personal vehicle for unauthorized commercial activity." The administrative manager dropped a printed copy of the so-called joint complaint onto the desk, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. The company had decided to issue me a fine, placed a formal warning on my record, and revoked my performance bonus for this quarter. I stared at the handwriting on the complaint, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. I recognized it instantly. It was Selena Rogers. The same coworker who had been hitching rides with me to and from work every day for the past three years. It was all because of last night's storm. She had insisted I take a long detour to drive her to the mall so she could pick up her boyfriend, and I had said no. Then, in the break room, Selena's voice carried loud and clear. "Jennifer, I didn't have a choice. "We have to keep work and personal matters separate. The transportation stipend from the company isn't for you to make extra money." Around us, coworkers glanced over, whispering and pointing, as if they had completely forgotten how eager they once were to ask for a ride home. I took a slow breath. "Fine. I accept the company's decision." Then I pulled out my phone and made a call. "Mr. Wallace, I won't be renewing the lease on those two vans. "Yes. The ones that have been picking up and dropping off the admin and sales teams every day, free of charge." For three years, I had been the easygoing one, paying out of my own pocket every month to lease those vehicles so my coworkers could treat it as a perk. If that was now considered unauthorized business activity, then from this day on, everyone could figure out their own way to get to work.

In the fifth year of my marriage to Raymond Lowe, Lilian Smith, the woman he had never been able to forget, returned. From that moment on, cracks began to form in our marriage. Raymond started breaking his promises. The first time was the day I won a major design award. He had promised to take me out and celebrate. Instead, a single phone call from Lilian was enough to make him leave. The second time was on my birthday. The candles had been lit, and I had not even made a wish yet when Lilian called. Once again, he walked out without hesitation. The third time was Valentine's Day. I sat alone in the private dining room I had reserved, waiting for Raymond for four hours. He never showed up. Later that night, I saw Lilian's post on social media. Raymond was with her, standing on a bridge beneath the stars. The fourth time was our wedding anniversary. That was the night I became the laughingstock of Liberty City. The humiliation was so public that there was not a single person in the city who did not know about it. I sat alone in a nursing home that evening when a message from Lilian appeared on my phone. After reading it, I walked into the operating room without looking back and terminated the pregnancy. In that moment, I also took back the love I had once given Raymond. Raymond, it was only because I loved you that you were able to hurt me again and again. However, the moment I stopped loving you, you became nothing to me.

My boss, Grant Whitlock, removed every table and chair from the operations team's area during the company's holiday party. Then, he placed one stainless-steel dog bowl in the middle of the stage. "Ops is basically the company's guard dog," he announced. "And dogs don't eat at the table." The top sales guy laughed and scraped his leftovers straight into the bowl. After that, Grant threw a black trash bag over my shoulders. "From now on, you're our walking trash can. Make yourself useful." The room exploded with laughter. I didn't say a word. I just tightened my grip around the master access card in my hand. What they didn't know was that the building's emergency utility approvals, maintenance access, and property management favors all went through me. They were all living it up because of this "dog" they loved looking down on. I had had enough. So, I dropped my employee badge into the dog bowl and walked out on them. I thought, 'After the holidays, no one will be cleaning the mess on those two floors. Let's see how well they survive without me.'