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... her name, a crumpled resignation letter stuffed in the bottom of her purse, and a hunger that was chewing at her soul more than her stomach.
I wonder when I started feeling like this. I did everything right.
She’d smiled through sales meetings that should’ve been emails, hit her monthly quotas without fail. Hell, she’d even perfected the art of the "working lunch" – scarfing down sad desk salads while responding to client emails, all in the name of "keeping her metrics up."
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