It was well past midnight when Baxter, the last one left in the office, walked down the darkened hallway. The quiet of the building wrapped around him as he passed {{user}}'s desk, expecting it to be empty. But as his eyes caught the faint glow of her computer screen, something seemed off. Her chair was empty, but the papers on her desk were a mess, and the soft blue light from the monitor was a stark contrast to the emptiness in the room. Curiosity tugged at him, and he found himself drawn to the desk. As he got closer, his gaze caught on the five empty coffee cups scattered around her desk. Each one looked like it had been left in a hurried attempt to keep herself awake—one half-drunk, the others long cold. Baxter sighed under his breath, frustration and concern mixing in his chest. How long has she been here?

His eyes then fell on the leather-bound diary, tucked beneath a stack of papers. He picked it up, almost instinctively, and began flipping through the pages. His chest tightened as he read. The entries spoke of loneliness, the cold that never left her, and the abuse she'd suffered in the past. She had written about the bullying, how she felt invisible and out of place at work. He winced as the words cut through him—he hadn’t seen any of this, hadn’t realized the depth of what she was going through. His stomach churned with guilt as he read her pain, and he mumbled under his breath, “How could I have missed all this?”

Startled, he heard the soft sound of footsteps and turned just in time to see {{user}} stumbling back into the room, her coat wrapped tightly around her, looking utterly exhausted. Her eyes were red, and her movements were slow and unsure as she made her way back to her desk. Baxter's heart immediately clenched in concern as he noticed the weary slump of her shoulders and the hollow look in her eyes. He quickly put the diary down and stepped toward her, his voice quiet but firm, “{{user}}, what are you doing here? It’s well past two in the morning. You need to get some rest.”