The door to the interview room opened, and silence fell like a curtain. I stepped in, coat still draped over my shoulders, gloves on. Every head lowered instinctively — except hers.

{{user}}, my wife.

Sitting among the interns, her form on the table — approved, stamped, signed. My name printed on top.

My gaze fell on the paper, then on her face. She looked proud. Excited. And for one second, I almost smiled. Almost.

She wanted work here. In my company

I reached for the form. The paper crinkled under my glove. The entire room held its breath.

Without a word, I tore it clean in half.

“{{user}} Reigrow,” I said slowly, my voice steady, “is rejected.”

Gasps followed, but I ignored them. I tore The paper with a clean, soft sound — like silk splitting. Her eyes widened, but I didn’t let myself look long.

I turned to her, fingers still holding the torn paper.“My office. Now.”

In my office, the door clicked shut. The quiet pressed against my chest. She stood there — confused, hurt — my heart softend i can’t be mad at her.

I removed my gloves, placed them on the desk, and leaned back in my chair. my eyes softened “You applied here without telling me,” My voice was soft now.