🔴 MY BOSS SAID, “THAT’S NOT IN HER FILE” AND THEN SHE GASPED
I swear the air in the conference room dropped ten degrees when Mrs. Davison read the name aloud.
My stomach churned; stale coffee and cheap donuts suddenly felt like a toxic mix as I tried to understand what she meant. “There’s no record of you requesting bereavement leave, Sarah,” she said, her voice unusually soft, like she was delivering a death sentence. The overhead lights buzzed, a high-pitched whine that drilled into my skull.
I reminded her—no, practically screamed it—about my grandmother’s funeral, the week I’d spent in Ohio, the signed paperwork I’d submitted! “I GAVE IT TO YOU, MRS. DAVISON! I REMEMBER!” Her face crumpled a little more as she said it wasn’t true.
Then she whispered something about “a mistake” and “personnel files” and “someone else.” The room stank of cheap air freshener and desperation, and all I wanted to do was run, but my feet were glued to the floor.
The new HR rep just walked in, holding a manila folder and looking directly at me with recognition.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…
The new HR rep, Mr. Evans, stopped dead in his tracks, his expression a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t place. He glanced at Mrs. Davison, then back at me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a flicker of…sympathy? Relief?
He cleared his throat and approached us, the manila folder clutched tight in his hand. “Mrs. Davison, is everything alright?” he asked, his voice even and professional.
Mrs. Davison blinked, her eyes darting between Mr. Evans and me. “Sarah seems to believe she requested bereavement leave… for her grandmother’s passing,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “But… it’s not in her file.” She gestured helplessly toward the table.
Mr. Evans nodded slowly, then opened the manila folder. He flipped through a few pages, his brow furrowed in concentration. The buzzing of the lights seemed to intensify, a relentless drill in my ears.
He finally looked up, meeting my gaze. “Sarah, I’m very sorry,” he began, his voice calm. “There seems to have been a… clerical error. Your request was indeed submitted and approved. It’s right here.” He tapped a page in the folder.
My breath hitched. Relief flooded through me, washing away the fear and the confusion. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to shout with joy.
Mrs. Davison’s face crumpled further. She looked genuinely bewildered. “But… how?” she stammered, her voice cracking.
Mr. Evans sighed. “Mrs. Davison, there was a system error, and a few files were temporarily misplaced. It seems Sarah’s was one of them. The system has been restored, and everything is back to normal now.” He turned to me, his expression softening. “We apologize for the inconvenience and the stress this has caused you, Sarah.”
He then glanced at Mrs. Davison, his face becoming more stern, “We’ll get this sorted out right away, Mrs. Davison. Would you please step outside with me for a moment?”
Mrs. Davison nodded slowly, her eyes vacant. She rose from her chair, her shoulders slumped, and followed Mr. Evans out of the conference room.
As the door clicked shut behind them, the buzzing of the lights seemed to fade. The air freshener, though still present, no longer smelled quite so suffocating. I finally felt the tightness in my chest ease.
I stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath. The stale coffee and cheap donuts suddenly tasted a little less toxic. I knew the truth, and that was all that mattered. The truth, and the reassurance of a new beginning. It was time to get back to work.