“How’d it go?” he asked me.
Before I was down the street, I had called my husband, stopping to strip off my blazer with my briefcase tucked between my legs. The Friday afternoon sun bore down on me, slowly melting the makeup on my face.
“Really well!” I told him, excited. “…Of course, that probably means I didn’t get the job.”
He let out a mirthless laugh.
“I’m cautiously optimistic,” I said. “It’s so perfect for me. Honestly, it hasn’t even been two weeks since my retrenchment.”
He paused. Only three days before he had been the symbol of strength, telling me to leave the money worries behind and focus on me.
“So tell me all about it,” he finally said.
Monday morning at 8am, I received the call. “How’d you think you went?” the recruiter asked.
I knew from the question I had won the position.
I was right.