After two years of it being vacant, they’d posted the position online.
The one I’d been unofficially performing since 2021 when my responsibilities expanded to cover its duties.
My first warning? They made no announcements. It popped up during my normal Saturday morning ritual of surfing the net—another random add on a website. My trembling hand reached for my mug, but my grip faltered, sending my coffee clattering to the floor. Surrounded by the hum of my laptop, I mopped up the mess.
Once finished, I peered back at the monitor.
I applied that day.
I remember preparing my resume, updating the document with the tasks I’d performed over the past two years. Memories of group huddles, the hours preparing business cases, writing and re-writing recommendations to achieve the business goals.
One week later, I paused before the boiling kettle when heavy footsteps approached. “You’ve done a spectacular job,” a voice said.
I turned to face my manager. “Thanks … and just so you know, I’ve applied for the role.”
“That’s fantastic. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
A fortnight later, the call arrived. I’d secured an interview—Monday at 10.30am.
Monday came. My gut churned, and palms sweated while I dialed into the online meeting.
Following the interview, I buzzed with electricity. In a departure from previous weeks, interactions with my manager took on a collaborative approach. “Lyn, I’d like you to sit in on the finance meeting,” he’d announced.
I began to hope—until Friday at 4:30pm when my next warning arrived via incoming message in Teams.
I guess I should have known things were way too quiet. I clicked on the icon and answered the call.
“I’m glad I caught you before you headed out,” a velvety voice said. Her image filled my screen. “I’m guessing you know what this is for?”
I swallowed. “Yes … I think so.”
“We appreciate your application and congratulate you on an impressive interview. Unfortunately, you’ve been unsuccessful …”
Her lips moved, but my mind drifted back to early starts, navigating frost covered pathways, and the wheezing cough that rattled my bones amid the chill of Melbourne’s winter. I recalled preparing reports, how deep shadows formed under my eyes. Three years of toil—all for nothing.
The call ended, and I sat there, engulfed in silence.
Tears did not come, instead heat coiled within my chest, before igniting into sparks that surged forward to sweep away that passive part of me that accepted less. In contrast to my habits, when five o’clock came, I logged off.
With a deep breath, I opened my resume—the one that hadn’t existed three weeks before.
Lyrics to a feminist anthem pulsed in my head, repeating in a loop while I opened my laptop to the employment website. I smiled, reading the position displayed on my monitor, and my resolve solidified.
Ten minutes later, I clicked send. Let my roar erupt.
Louisa Prince is a self-proclaimed late bloomer, living in Melbourne, Australia who’s writing often focuses on family and health. An active member of The Society of Women Writers Victoria, her work is forthcoming in Certain Age Magazine, appeared in CaféLit Magazine, New Plains Review and was longlisted for SWWV’s Margaret Hazard Short Story Award.