When I reached his row, he looked older. The sharpness that once defined him was gone. His shoulders sagged a little, his eyes softer.
I didn’t know what to say. The flight hummed around us as his words sank in.
He told me what had happened after I left. The company lost its biggest investor, the board dissolved, his marriage ended. He said it without bitterness, only weary acceptance. “I lost everything,” he admitted. “But it made me see what really matters.”
For the first time, I saw him not as the man who had taken my job, but as another human being trying to make peace with his choices.
I told him about my own road — the therapy sessions that helped me breathe again, the anxiety that still visited some nights, and the nonprofit I had started to support others facing burnout and job loss.
We spoke for over an hour. No blame, no defensiveness. Just two people who had stumbled through life’s rougher lessons and were finally ready to listen.
Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. Inside was a check for $10,000.
“What I should have paid you when I let you go,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “It doesn’t erase anything. But I hope it helps.”
I didn’t know whether to thank him or cry. I managed both.
