The Whimsical Shift

The divorce papers were signed on a quiet Thursday afternoon. No shouting. No tears. Just the soft scrape of a pen and the end of a chapter that had already died months earlier. His wife’s betrayal had not destroyed him in a single moment—it had worn him down slowly, like rust eating through iron. When it was over, he felt lighter, but hollow. Work became his refuge. Every morning, he arrived early, stayed late, and spoke little. Then, one Monday, everything shifted. The company announced