He tried to shake it off, but anxiety clung stubbornly. Every time an email from HR popped into his inbox, his heart skipped. Every hallway chat between managers made him pause. It wasn’t guilt exactly—more like preemptive paranoia, the natural reflex of an employee too used to blame.
That evening, Brad stopped by his desk, grinning with paternal smugness. “Hey, buddy, great job on that deck. You really made me look good.” Ethan’s jaw tightened. There it was again—the ownership, the condescension. But this time, instead of anger, he felt only calm amusement.