I had been wanting to quit my job for the past year and a half, but the timing was never right. But fortunately, that is no longer an issue. My boss was fired last week, and it seems likely that everyone on her team will be fired as well, leaving me, her assistant, or as she referred to me “The person she was forced to hire,” jobless.

I know God hears me when I pray, and I was trusting Him to show me what to do next. But in the meantime, I put on my favorite black Prada skirt and pumps, black cashmere sweater, and the floral print Hermes scarf my generous but scathing boss gave me for my last birthday, and grabbed my most recent Christmas gift from her, a black leather YSL Muse handbag. I figured mourning attire would be appropriate, since I was on my way to the funeral service for my dead career. I took one last look in the mirror, picked up my keys, and walked out the door, not quite sure how painful today’s meeting with Human Resources would be.

I treated every step of this morning’s walk to work like a funeral procession, absorbing everything in sight and unsure if I would travel down this street again. When I arrived at my office building, I rode the elevator with the rest of the people from my boss’s team, each of us quietly staring at the brass doors, trying not to look at one another. As the doors opened and we exited the elevator to our new futures, we were greeted by Marcy Gibbons, the head of Human Resources.

Large tears rolled over the chubby apples of my four-year-old daughter’s cheeks. One of her little hands smeared them across her face, while the other hand clung to mine. Her watery, blue eyes peered up at me. Blond ringlets danced around her face when she nodded. I smiled at her before turning toward my husband. He began.

“We’re gathered here today to say good-bye to a cherished friend—”

Courtney pulled on my arm. “What’s sharished?”

“Cherished, sweetie. That means we loved her a lot.”

Courtney bit her lip. “Okay.” Her little head turned toward her daddy and nodded. He grinned and started again.

“Pinkie lived a good life.”

“Pinkie ’Lizbeth Tewart,” corrected Courtney.

“Pinkie Elizabeth Stewart,” he continued, “brought joy and love to our home during her two weeks with us. We will miss her.” He knelt beside our daughter, dwarfing her shoulders with his calloused hand. “It’s time.”