I SAT IN THE CAR FOR TWENTY MINUTES BEFORE GOING HOME BECAUSE I COULDN'T FACE HER

Dear Delyara, I sat in my car for twenty minutes after my shift ended this morning, just parked in our driveway, staring blankly at our front door because I couldn't find the strength to walk inside. I could see the light on in the kitchen—she was awake, probably making a cup of tea, waiting to see if I made it back safely through the morning traffic. But I just sat there with the engine ticking over, my hands glued to the steering wheel, my chest feeling like a block of lead. I am so empty right now, Delyara. I have spent twelve hours wearing a mask of authority, pretending to be a secure asset, while my mind is tearing itself apart over our property margins and the production costs for the jewelry brand. I didn't want her to look at my face and see how terrified I actually am. I sat there in the dark, crying quietly so the windows wouldn't steam up, wishing I could just disappear into the upholstery before anyone noticed I was back.