I forced a smile.
"Fine."
She raised one eyebrow.
I sighed.
"Not great."
She placed the receipts aside.
"Come sit."
I sat opposite her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she asked, "Did you do something wrong?"
I stared.
"No."
She nodded.
"Are you sure?"
I swallowed.
"I reported a discrepancy. I asked for documentation. I didn't accuse anybody of anything I couldn't prove."
My mother looked at me.
"Then what are you ashamed of?"
The question caught me off guard.
I looked down.
For several seconds, I couldn't answer.
Then I whispered, "I feel like I failed."
She reached across the table.
"Naomi."
My eyes filled.
"I studied so hard, Mom."
"I know."
"I did everything right."
She squeezed my hand.
"I know."
"And now I'm unemployed because I wouldn't pretend forty million dollars moved by accident."
My voice broke.
My mother stood slowly, came around the table, and put her arms around me.
I began crying.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
I cried with the exhaustion of months spent pretending I wasn't frightened.
My mother held me.
When I finally calmed down, she sat beside me.
Then she said, "Your father used to tell me something."
I wiped my cheeks.
"What?"
She smiled sadly.
"He said doing the right thing doesn't guarantee a reward."
I looked toward her.
She continued.
"But doing the wrong thing because you're afraid of losing something can cost you more than you understand."
I swallowed.
She squeezed my hand.
"That doesn't mean you should suffer forever. It means we find another way forward."
For a moment, I stared at her.
Then I laughed weakly.
"You make it sound easy."
She smiled.
"It's not."
She looked toward the receipts.
"But easy was never our specialty."
I laughed through tears.
She handed me a tissue.
Then asked whether I'd considered temporary work.
I nodded.
"Maybe."
She shrugged.
"Work is work, Naomi."
I looked toward her.