You know that one spot? The one right by the entrance to the office?
I don’t think anyone’s officially claimed it, but after seven months of waddling around with swollen ankles and an aching back, it’s kind of become ‘my’ spot.
I’m not asking for much—just a few extra steps shaved off my morning commute from the parking lot to the front door.
I thought we had an unspoken agreement. I park there because, well, I need it more than the rest of them.
It was sort of an unspoken thing. Everyone in the office being mindful of my pregnancy.
Well… almost everyone.
Today was different.
I pulled into the parking lot a little later than usual—I had overslept because ‘this baby’ decided to keep me up all night kicking.
It wasn’t a great morning, and I wasn’t expecting much.
I was just looking forward to sliding into my spot, taking a deep breath, and easing my tired body out of the car. But no.
Brian’s car was sitting there like it had every right to be.
Brian. Of all people.
He’s that guy in the office who spends his whole day on the verge of a smug smile like he’s constantly congratulating himself for something the rest of us can’t see.
I wasn’t exactly surprised, but there was something about the sight of his shiny SUV parked in ‘my’ spot that really rubbed me the wrong way.
I sighed, pulling into a space practically at the other end of the parking lot. As I got out and felt that familiar weight pressing down on my legs, I tried to calm myself down. “It’s just a spot, Linda,” I muttered, waddling toward the building.
But each step felt heavier than the last. I could feel my temper rising with every inch of pavement I had to cover.
By the time I finally made it inside, I was late. And of course, Brian was already there, sitting at his desk with that self-satisfied look like he’d just won something.
I caught him glancing at me from across the office, and I swear he was holding back a grin.
I tried to shake it off, but my whole morning was thrown. I was dragging my feet all day, struggling to stay on top of work while fending off a wave of nausea and exhaustion.
It didn’t help that the rest of the office seemed to notice. I caught snippets of conversation—people whispering about how inconsiderate it was for someone to take the spot that had practically become my designated space.
Brian, the idiot who parked there, just sat in the break room chatting like he had no idea.
But you know what? Karma has a way of balancing these things out.
At lunch, Brian was on his way out to his car when I saw him stop dead in his tracks.
He crouched down by one of his tires, and even from a distance, I could tell something was wrong.