Fired

I did what I said I was going to do. Monday morning, I handed in my resignation to the head attorney, giving him my two weeks, though my last week I’d be back working in my home office. Then come Monday afternoon, and I get a call saying I have to go talk to my dad immediately.

            As you can guess, there was an argument. Dad was furious about my resignation. I admit, and admitted to him, that I should have told him in person rather than let it get back to him through the grapevine. But I refused to apologize for leaving. The more we talked, the more desperate Dad became in trying to get me to take back my resignation. He brought up the fact we were so close to landing the Dalrymple account, but losing our “family business” title would make that opportunity slip through our fingers. He called me ungrateful for the incredible position he had put me in and the money he’d spent on my schooling and everything I’d ever had, apparently, was due to his generosity as a father. He even brought up my mom, saying this was the future she’d wanted for me and how I couldn’t disrespect her memory and walk out of here. As if he had any right to speak for what she wanted. I had to be firm and honest with how difficult he was being. I explained that I never wanted this job and I’d always hated it and everything about it, and I was going after what I had always wanted to do. What sent Dad over all reason was when I said he’d regret all of the horrible ways he’s treated everyone but Eliza, because I was only the first of many who would get enough gumption to leave his toxic influence.

            My dad responded by firing me. I was to go home and pack up my stuff, because if I was so determined to be independent of him of him, I could be independent in all things, not just my job.

            It was a shock and I think it might have been intended to scare me back into my place, but all I felt was relief. I was happy to leave that house and find somewhere else to go. 

            While in a taxi, I called Ruth to ask if I could stay with her, briefly explaining the situation. Thankfully, she didn’t challenge my decision, and only said she’d have the guest bed made up for me. Even after I’d packed everything up and arrived at Ruth’s sister’s place, she didn’t lecture me. She told me my dad had informed her about my decision and wanted her to convince me to come back. But she put a hand to my cheek and said, “But abused children, huh? She’d be proud of you.”

            So I’m here now, without anything to do. I could head back down early and prepare for the interview. Ruth has already said she’ll let me stay in her house until I can find another arrangement. But…Fred is still here. I haven’t heard from him at all, but I don’t want to leave until I have to, or at least until I talk to him. Hopefully on Monday I’ll have something to report there. But if not, then I’ve probably lost him forever.