The Scarf That Broke Us

d in the bedroom doorway. He was still wearin

ual, as if he were speaking to a subordinate. "My suit is at the dry cleaner' s o

ion, an underling gleefully wielding his newfound power. I looked at him, at the scarf around his neck, a

I said

ed me to obey, to perform one last act of

did you

itcase and my briefcase, which held my laptop and portfolio.

ion official. I needed a clean break, legally and professionally. I went straight to

resignation. The HR manager, a woman who had always been d

"Company policy for executive-level staff requires a dir

er chain to keep me bound to her. She would never sign it

?" I asked, m

t 'The Pinnacle' ," the man

ic places in the city, a spot where the powerful went to be seen.

e table, laughing with Ryan, who was now wearing the suit I was supposed to have picked up for him.

ble, the resignati

ignature," I said, keepi

savoring the moment. The entire

for the surrounding tables to hear. "After you' ve been

rd, her eyes gle

it. But first, yo

to the floo

n this restaurant that you are not good enough for me. Tell them that yo

ty, designed for maximum public humiliation. Ryan sat back, a look of pur

essions a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. For a split second, my

d. I thought of the years of quiet degradation I had already endured. What was one more mo

old marble floor. The murmuring in the restaurant grew loud

k a b

otion. It carried through the now-silent restaurant. "I am not good e

e flicker of the pain or rage I felt. I h

from her purse, and with a dramatic flourish, she signed

Was that

out another word. The whispers and stares of the crowd followed me out the door. I could

paper. I