Angelina sat in the office of her magazine, bored out of her mind, flipping through the catalog of a new store that had just opened nearby. A few hours earlier, she had sent off her latest article to the editor and was now waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d barge into her office, ranting about what a mess she’d turned in this time. And she’d just sit there quietly, take the criticism, and then churn out another pointless piece about celebrities for next week’s issue. This had been the cycle of her life for years now, one she’d been desperately trying to break free from.
Was it really so hard for Dmitry Sergeevich to get that this wasn’t her thing? Sure, she enjoyed writing a variety of articles, as long as they didn’t touch on economics or politics. But was it too much to ask for a spot in the sports section or to be assigned a real, in-depth investigation—something she could sink her teeth into and produce work she could actually be proud of?
“Angelinaaa!” came the shout from down the hall, and soon enough, the editor himself stormed into her office. “What is this?! What is this, you tell me!”
“Just a little article, like you asked for,” Angelina Makarivna Pidhirnyak replied calmly, as if nothing was wrong, glancing over the lines of her piece once more. She didn’t usually care for this kind of fluff, but this time, she felt the article was a cut above her previous ones. And it had something she’d been craving—a bit of investigative work. Though she regretted not having done the digging herself.
“The world has long been split in two. Armies of fans of these actors won’t quiet down, continuing their boycott outside the courthouse…”
“Didn’t you get enough of this garbage while writing it?!”
“Nope,” Angelina said, looking straight into the editor’s eyes. “I write all these ‘pathetic’ articles without even revising them, without fixing random typos. I mean, I’m nobody, right? I don’t even know how to write.”
“What do you think you’re doing, talking like that?!”
“What’s the problem? I’m just saying what you think of me, aren’t I?”
“I never said any such thing, and…”
“But you thought it,” she whispered, exhausted. She couldn’t take this anymore. She just wanted to end this pointless conversation.
“You know this is all because of your father. He asked me to give you this job, said you wouldn’t let me down, and look how that turned out,” the editor said, slumping into the chair next to her. “I trusted him.”
“First of all, this wasn’t for my father’s sake, or even mine. I should probably thank your precious little son for getting himself into trouble again.”
“Don’t you dare bring up Maxim!” the editor snapped, jumping to his feet, his voice laced with menace.
“Why not? It was your darling Maxim who got into that car accident. I just happened to be nearby and called my dad. What would’ve happened if I’d dialed the cops instead of the police chief? Ever think about that?”
“Enough! If you’re so eager to get fired, you’ve got your wish. Be in accounting in five minutes to sign the paperwork.”
“Goodbye,” Angelina said curtly, storming out of the office she’d come to despise.
The monotonous white hallways and the uncomfortably neat office desks, always in perfect order, faded behind her. The fake smiles, the pretend sadness over their colleague getting let go—Angelina didn’t need any of it.
Today, she finally realized she shouldn’t keep waiting for something to happen. She wanted to act, right now. She knew this firing was just a step toward something new, something unknown but thrilling all the same. Starting today, she could finally live life on her own terms and dive into a real investigation. She believed something big was coming. And to make it happen, she’d start searching for some kind of “truth” today. But what kind of truth, and would she even be able to find it? Seeing things as they really are was no easy task.