Marital Bitch by JC Emery

fear. He waves me in. “Shut the door, Colleen. We don’t need the entire floor aware of your short comings.”
    I shut the door behind me and sit in a guest chair, awaiting my fate. Thomas and I are close in age, but he’s the golden child of the senior partner. Thomas is not known for his people skills, but he’s a competent enough lawyer. He’s also not one for beating around the bush.
    “When you were hired here, Colleen, the firm made it perfectly clear what our stance was on our associate’s personal lives interfering with their commitment to the firm. Need I remind you of the commitment you made upon being hired?” I shake my head. No, I needn’t be reminded, thank you.
    “Employment at Nate & Caldwell is high sought after. Had it not been for your father’s connections in the D.A.’s office, you likely would not have been hired. Based on your University scores and your interview alone, you were not an ideal candidate for the position.” His words cut me to the bone. During my interview, Mr. Nate, Sr. asked me about my father several times, but I never thought much of it. And my scores from University? That must be a joke. I went to Harvard.
    “Mr. Nate,” I say as confidently as I can, “I went to Harvard. I received above average marks, and I do not appreciate the accusation that I did not obtain this position based on my own merit—that I had to have daddy help me—so please. I have no defense for my absence this morning.” I choose not to apologize just yet. I don’t want to sound like I’m begging or kissing his ass. I know Thomas wants me to kiss his ass more than anything right now.
    He nods his head and shoves a piece of paper and pen at me. I peer over at the paper to find that it’s a performance contract. I pick up the offending paper to find that I am in more trouble than I had initially thought. This contract basically says that I am to not miss another court date, that I am to be in the office on time every day, and that my personal life—namely my husband—are not to interfere with my work. This feels extreme, even for Thomas.
    “Mr. Nate, this contract feels a bit presumptuous considering this is my first offense. This was my first time missing any time at work since coming on board at the firm. I cannot believe that all associates are sanctioned at this level for a first offense.” I feel confident that I’m being picked on and I don’t like it.
    “Ms. Frasier,” Thomas says and then clears his throat. “Err—Mrs. Patrick, you are not yet a full associate. You are still in your probationary period and can be let go without cause. This here,” he waves at the paper, “is a professional courtesy.” Suddenly, I feel like I’m a small child and my parents are disappointed in me. I doubt the legality of the contract, but I feel boxed into a corner.
    “So,” he says, the smug sound of superiority laces his every word, reminding me of my place. “I suggest that you sign the contract so that you may continue employment with Nate & Caldwell; otherwise the firm will take your objection as your resignation.”
    I sign the form. I have little choice, apart from unemployment; and in this economy I doubt that I will have many job prospects having been fired from my one and only place of employment as a practicing attorney. Thomas, The Toad, as I will now take to calling him, dismisses me for the day. He suggests that I go home and get the honeymoon out of my system so that I can be in top shape for tomorrow.
    I slink out of his office and keep my head down on my walk out. I hear murmurs from my coworkers, all wanting to know what happened and whether or not I’ve been fired. For people with such heavy workloads, they sure are spending a lot of time focusing on non-work-related affairs.
    I make it back to the truck before I break. Sobs rack my body with such force that it cripples me. As people pass by and become more inquisitive about the sobbing woman in the pickup, I collect