When One Door Closes at Work

You arrived carrying more than your coat today.

I could see it in the way you set your bag down. Too carefully. As if everything you were holding might spill if you moved too quickly. You said very little at first, only that you needed a break from work, from the noise of it, from the worry that had settled into the air after so many were let go all at once.

The kitchen was already warm when you came in. I had just begun lunch.

I did not ask questions. Not yet. I set water to boil and began slicing garlic, slow and steady, the way I always do when the world feels uncertain. There is something grounding about it. The sound of the knife. The scent rising almost immediately. Sharp at first, then comforting.

You sat at the small table near the window. I drizzled olive oil into a pan and added rosemary, letting it warm gently until the room filled with that familiar green scent that feels like being held in place. Bread went into the oven. Soup simmered. Nothing complicated. Just food meant to fortify.

You told me then. About the layoffs. About the waiting. About how no one knows what comes next and how heavy that feels when it follows you home.

I listened while I stirred.

There are moments when life closes a door so loudly that it startles us. It echoes. It makes us doubt our footing. But I have learned that the closing is never the end of the story. It is a pause. A clearing. A chance for something else to find its way in.

When I set your bowl in front of you, I did it with care. Garlic for strength. Bread for steadiness. Olive oil for continuity. Herbs for clarity. Salt enough to remind the body that it is still here and still supported.

You ate slowly. Your shoulders lowered. The room grew quieter.

This is how protection often works. It does not announce itself. It nourishes. It steadies. It reminds you of what you still have when everything else feels uncertain.

Before you left, I wrapped a small piece of bread for you to take along. Just in case. You smiled then. Not wide. But real.

Some doors close. Others open in ways we do not expect. Opportunity has a habit of arriving disguised as interruption.

For now, it is enough to be fed. It is enough to be safe. It is enough to know that you are not facing what comes next alone.

Mika