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.
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.
A Quiet Landing
When the plane touched down, we shook hands. No grand speeches, no promises — just a silent understanding that some circles of life close not with triumph, but with grace.
A week later, I donated half the money to our nonprofit’s mental health program and used the rest to buy laptops for children in a local shelter. It felt right — to turn a painful memory into something that could help others rebuild, too.
