Hours chased hours, days chased days. It had been
exactly one month since Selin had arrived here. Autumn in Canada was beginning
to make itself truly felt. Mornings were darker, evenings cooler. Every
evening, as the sun turned red on the horizon, she would think that it was
already night-time in Zurich, that her son was alone at home, but just as she
liked to imagine—sleeping peacefully. From the depths of her heart, she would
whisper, “Good night, my darling.” Soon, Charles would be home from work and
they would prepare dinner together. In fact, these were the hours when Selin
felt most at ease. On the old continent, the sun had long since set, and the
night had begun.
When the alarm rang at 6 a.m., still half-asleep, she
would reach for the mobile phone on her bedside table, switch off flight mode,
and check her messages in case anything urgent had happened overnight.
Still groggy, Charles would stagger to his feet in
just his boxer shorts, pull up the blinds and ask, “Do you want coffee, love?”
Selin, with her familiar cheeky smile, would always reply, “Yes, darling,” and
then their day would begin.
Charles would return to the bedroom carrying two
fragrant cups of coffee. He would place one on the bedside table, right where
Selin had just set her phone, and as he leaned over to kiss her, he would never
fail to say, “Good morning, my love.” Sitting side by side, sipping their
coffee, they would talk—about Charles’s work, Selin’s classes, politics, ageing
family members, and the journey of life they shared. But most of all, they
would talk about their children—now grown—whom they had left behind in two different
countries in Europe.
For now, this was their life: calm, peaceful, a life
with a rhythm. The children had grown up, but still, leaving them behind to
move to another continent was, in itself, an adventure. Selin was very close to
her son. She described herself, borrowing an expression from the Far East, as a
“tiger mother”. They messaged each other daily. She took interest in his
university subjects and would share her thoughts with him. As she sipped her
coffee, her mind would drift like a bird flying above the continents. “Leon is
probably taking his lunch break now. He’s a bit slow; while the other students
are already halfway down the corridor, he’s still packing away his laptop and
tablet,” she would imagine.
Charles had two children of his own, but he believed
that children should be given freedom, that only in this way could they develop
their own identity. On this matter, they were different.
As their conversation deepened, the sky above the city
would slowly lighten, the lights would go out one by one, and the day would
begin. They planned to stay in this city for no more than two years, then
return to the continent. Selin had already started looking for a new house in
France or Switzerland. She enjoyed dreaming. Charles joined in her dreams.
Nothing could compare to the peace of that first hour spent with morning
coffee. Then suddenly they would realise it was nearly seven o’clock, leap out
of bed, and dash to the shower together.
For the first time in years, Selin was not working.
And it hadn’t been her decision. The company had changed hands, and the new
management had made twenty-seven redundancies. This sudden decision initially
made her angry—after all the years she had given to the company, being
discarded so easily had upset her. But over time, she noticed another feeling
growing inside her—a sense of lightness. Perhaps she had needed rest, the
chance to learn new things, and to follow Charles to Canada. She was excited that
they now had time for each other.
When Charles left for work, she had half an hour
before her French class. She spent it tidying up—loading the dishwasher,
putting the flat in order—and her mind went back to the day she was made
redundant.
She had climbed the stairs, entered the four-digit
code, and stepped into the large, open-plan office. Ever since the company had
changed owners, she had felt a tightness in her chest each time she passed
through that door. One of the young managers, seated near the entrance, was
loudly scolding someone on the phone. His disrespectful tone always irritated
Selin. She had dropped her things at her desk and gone to the kitchen area in
the corner for coffee. As she placed her cup beneath the sparkling Italian espresso
machine, a colleague told her, “Apparently twenty-seven people are being let go
today.”
Returning to her desk, she had opened the email in
question. It came from that same young manager who had annoyed her earlier.
Written in management school jargon, the message coldly explained that
twenty-seven “redundant headcount” would be dismissed to improve efficiency and
reduce costs. She was disgusted by the arrogant tone—it perfectly reflected the
character of the company’s new owners.
She had seen her colleagues being led to HR one by
one, like prisoners walking to execution. Before she could even think, “Is it
my turn?”, Marina appeared silently beside her and invited her to the meeting
room. As soon as she left the office, she had burst into tears. On the tram,
everyone looked sad to her, as if the whole day was weighed down with sorrow.
She had got off and walked along the waterfront under the light drizzle. When
she remembered her fiftieth birthday was just a week away, she cried again—“What
a terrible birthday present,” she thought—and only then did she feel some
relief. The emotions from that day were still fresh, but they no longer hurt
her.
She swung her green leather rucksack over her shoulder
and glanced in the mirror one more time. Twenty-five years ago, when she came
to Zurich for a job interview, the company had even paid for her flight from
Stockholm. Life had been full of promise. The interview had been brief. The HR
manager had already prepared her contract before she arrived. Her salary would
be nearly three times what she earned in Stockholm. What a polite man he had
been. Over the past twenty-five years, the job title had changed from
“personnel manager” to “head of human resources.” Back then, that kind man had
said, “The CEO and I have signed it. All that’s left is your signature. Go
home, read it, think about it, and let us know.” She smiled at the memory—she
had felt as if she were walking on air.
Those twenty-five years had passed beautifully and
quickly. She had advanced in her career, achieved financial success, and built
herself a safety net. Yet for some reason, she had never dared to change the
story she was living. It was only after being made redundant that she found the
courage to rewrite her narrative.
She turned from Saint André Street onto Rue de la
Commune. The rain was falling lightly again. This time, Selin was walking with
a wide smile on her face. She had left behind her job, her routine, her old
life—but she had wholeheartedly embraced her new one. Sometimes, an ending we
didn’t write ourselves can be the start of a brand new story.
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