I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Around us, my younger colleagues whispered and snickered, their barely concealed delight cutting deeper than Manager Lee’s words.
"That’s right, Skylar," one of them jeered, feigning sympathy. "You’re not young anymore. Maybe it’s time to step aside."
"Pretending to be young while opposing youth culture? It’s embarrassing. Makes me sick to watch you."
Their mockery, mingled with laughter, echoed in my ears. It snapped something in me. Years of stress and suppressed anger surged to the forefront. I turned sharply and hurled the nearest object to the floor. It shattered with a loud crash, silencing the room.
The office, once my domain of dedication and success, now stood still, drenched in humiliation and tension. Manager Lee’s darkened face showed his disapproval.
"Go home, Skylar," he said coldly, thrusting a stack of documents toward me.
I sneered, refusing the papers and stormed out without a backward glance. Fired over a video.