Chapter 23
Purpose Chapter 24
The door clicked shut behind Sam, and the silence that filled the apartment was a living thing, heavy with the emotional aftermath of the morning’s failure. Mary stood in the sudden quiet, listening to the muffled sounds of her boys getting ready. The thump of a shoe falling, a shushed argument, the splashing of water in the bathroom. Normal sounds. The sounds of a life she was supposed to be in control of. The boys knew without saying it out loud, mom was hurting.
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until she saw stars. Stupid. Stupid. The word hammered in her skull. She hadn’t just startled; she had fractured right in front of her best friend. She had let him win a small victory from six hundred miles away, letting his ghost reach into this safe place and make her flinch. Sam’s stricken face, the hot coffee on the floor, made her feel ashamed. That was the real mess she’d made.
She couldn’t afford this. Couldn’t afford to be her.
Moving with a sharp, angry efficiency, Mary began to clear the breakfast dishes. The clatter of ceramic was too loud, a jarring counter to the gentle morning light. She scraped the remnants of congee into the compost, the motions violent. The kitchen needed to be cleaned. The day needed to be ordered. She needed to do something.
After hurried, too-tight hugs for the boys, she held Theo a second longer than necessary, breathing in the warm, sleepy smell of his hair. She ushered them out the door with a weak smile and a wave. The boys gave her a worried look as the elevator doors closed, but she forced a brighter smile.
Alone, the silence returned, sharper now.
Mary went to her closet, throwing it open with more force than necessary. Her eyes found a soft, draped cardigan in a muted sage green. Safe. Comfortable. Invisible. She grabbed it, then flung it onto the bed in disgust. No. That was the old Mary. The Mary who flinched.
She wanted armor.
Her hand passed over the safe, soft fabrics and landed on a structured blazer in a deep charcoal. It was all sharp lines and professional intention. She pulled it out, along with a crisp white blouse and tailored trousers. The uniform of someone in control.
The shower was scalding, a punishment and a penance. She scrubbed her skin until it was bright pink, rubbed raw, as if she could wash away the morning’s humiliation. She didn’t allow herself to linger, to grieve. She dressed with the same grim purpose, the blazer’s fabric a firm, constricting reassurance against her shoulders. Her hair was twisted into a severe, low knot. No time for make-up, for softening the hard lines of her reflection. The woman in the mirror looked pale, eyes too large, but the set of her mouth was grim. It would have to do.
She grabbed her bag, the worn leather a familiar weight, and left the apartment without a backward glance.
The walk to campus was her ritual of forced normalcy. She counted her steps. She noted the way the light fell through the newly green leaves. She focused on the rhythm of her own breath, a meditation she’d learned in a support group. In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. She repeated the colors of the rainbow. Red, Orange, Yellow…By the time she reached her building, she had constructed a fragile shell of composure around herself.
The office was a sanctuary, a mundane routine, necessary. The hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant clack of computer keys, the faint smell of old paper and coffee. She hung her bag on her chair, her movements deliberate. Then, she looked at her desk.
Empty.
No coffee cup. No neat little bundle of breakfast bread. Just the pink feminine controlled chaos of her workspace.
Mary’s stomach did a strange, small dip. Disappointment. Tears stung her eyes. It was a foolish, dangerous thing to feel. She had told herself it was just a kind gesture from a friendly colleague.
She had rationalized it, compartmentalized it. But seeing its absence felt like a confirmation. A small, selfish part of her had begun to count on that small anchor in her mornings. And now, on a morning when she desperately needed something steady, it was gone.
Good, she told herself firmly. It’s for the best. Less complicated.
She gathered her mug and a packet of oolong tea. She needed something soothing, something warm to calm the ragged edges. She headed for the break room. As she stepped back into the main walkway area, the low thrum of normal activity was ruptured by a sharp, angry voice.
“…not how this works, and you know it, Aaron!”
Mary froze. Eric was standing by his desk, his face flushed an ugly red. Across from him, Aaron’s face was frowned in tension, his lips pressed into a thin, white line, his eyes glittering with barely contained fury. The air between them was electric, charged with something that made the few other early arrivals at their desks go utterly still, eyes fixed on their monitors.
Mary averted her gaze immediately, clutching her mug like a shield. She skirted the perimeter of the room, heart thudding a familiar, anxious rhythm against her ribs. Whatever that was, she wanted no part of. She had enough battles of her own to fight today.
The break room offered no relief from her thoughts, only the hiss of the hot water dispenser and the sterile gleam of tile. Mary dunked her tea strainer mechanically, watching the water bloom pale amber. She needed to focus. Wednesday meant two classes back-to-back, which meant two unavoidable collisions. One was a much needed discussion with Carley.
The first class started without any difficulty. Mary could lose herself in the questions and excitement of her students, delivering her lecture on Greek social hierarchies. The questions came fast after Mary assigned a three-page essay with quotations from the text readings. But the second class was not going to be as hands off. Today was discussion-based. The students had prepared a Plato based debate. Her first class passed quickly. She packed up and went to her office, by passing the cafeteria and Sam’s worried gaze. She waved her off by motioning to her computer bag and retreated to the empty office area. She quickly made tea and sat down at her desk.
Mary re-read Carly’s file while sipping her tea. After their uncomfortable meetings yesterday, she knew she had to confront this problem before it escalated. Taught part-time while finishing her thesis on contemporary feminist movements in urban China. Well-regarded by students. Ambitious. The kind of student she admired. She made a mental note to ask why they had not been assigned to each other. The tea was too hot. Mary drank it anyway, letting the burn ground her. When her lunch was over, she quickly evaded the professors coming back by taking the back stairs out of the building.
Standing at the podium of her second class, Mary arranged her notes. She was engrossed in reading when she felt the familiar prickle of scrutiny. She looked up before grabbing her notes, made eye contact with Carly as she walked in and sat down. Mary gave a tight smile which was met with eye rolling and a defiant look away.
The seminar classroom had been too warm when she first entered. Mary turned the air conditioning dial lower knowing that the students might get heated while arguing. She did not want to add to the atmosphere. She felt constricted in her blazer, adding to the stress she felt knowing the end of class was going to have a confrontation. More students started to trickle in. Mary made her way over to the last seat on the far side of the semi-circle. The students arranged themselves in their groups in the loose semi-circle seating arrangement. Carly had claimed the seat directly across from Mary.
Today’s practice debate was based on Plato’s Republic. Each team had been required to prepare an opening statement, closing argument, debate points with quotes from the assignment question board, and appoint two spokesmen, an opener and a closer.
Mary clasped her hands on her lap atop of her notes and grading sheet. The charcoal blazer’s sharp shoulders and constricting fabric made her very uncomfortable. She took a moment to take off the blazer, did a brief readjustment in her chair and began class.
“Alright. Let’s begin with the affirmative team’s opening statement. You have four minutes.”
The debate launched with a clumsy enthusiasm that Mary usually found endearing. Two students fumbled with notecards. Another spoke too quickly, words tumbling over each other like a small child explaining something serious. Mary made small ticks on her grading sheet, noting who had prepared and who was bluffing.
But her attention kept snagging on Carly.
The young woman sat with her arms crossed, her jaw set in a line that suggested she was chewing on something bitter. When her teammate, a nervous boy named Patel, stumbled over a quote from Book V, Carly’s eyes flicked to Mary with something that looked like accusation.
Mary kept her face neutral.
The debate spiraled through its motions. The opposing team’s second speaker landed a decent point about the philosopher-king’s inherent contradiction. The affirmative team’s rebuttal was weak. Carly, who was slated as the closing speaker, sat motionless through most of it, her notes untouched on the desk in front of her.
“Closing statements,” Mary announced, glancing at the clock. Five minutes left. “Affirmative team.”
Carly stood slowly. She did not look at her notes. Her voice was flat, mechanical, reciting words she had memorized but did not believe.
“The just city is possible only when each class performs its designated function without envy or ambition toward the role of another. Therefore, the philosopher-king is not a contradiction but a necessity. The guardians must rule because only they can see the Form of the Good.”
She sat down.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. The other students exchanged glances. That had been competent, technically correct, and utterly hollow.
Mary nodded slowly. “Thank you. Before we end, I want to offer a quick reflection. to help you prepare for the next debate.” She looked around the circle, letting her gaze land briefly on each student. “Plato argues that justice is harmony. Each part of the city, and each part of the soul, doing its proper work without interference or resentment. But what happens when someone is prevented from doing the work they were meant for? When the guardian refuses to guard, or the merchant envies the ruler?”
Carly’s jaw tightened.
Mary continued, her voice gentle but not soft. “Disharmony. Resentment. The city fractures from within.” She let the words settle. “Think about that as you revise your closing statements. Some of you delivered the words without believing them. Your audience can always tell.”
The bell rang.
Students packed their bags with the usual relieved chaos. Mary busied herself with her notes, waiting. She counted to thirty in her head.
Carly slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door without a single glance backward.
“Carly.” Mary’s voice was quiet but carried. “A moment.”
The other students filtered out, curiosity flickering across a few faces. The door swung shut. They were alone.
Carly turned, her posture rigid. “Yes, Professor?”
Mary set down her notes and walked to the front row of desks, leaning against the edge of one. She gestured to the chair beside her. “Sit. Please.”
After a beat of resistance, Carly dropped into the seat, not beside Mary, but one desk over, as if maintaining a perimeter.
Mary folded her hands in her lap. She had rehearsed this conversation three times during her lunch period, but now that she was here, the words felt clumsy and inadequate.
“I’m going to speak plainly,” Mary said. “Because I think you’re someone who appreciates plain speech.”
Carly said nothing.
“Yesterday. Today. The meetings we’ve had. There’s something going on with you, and it’s affecting your work. More importantly, it’s affecting you.” Mary tilted her head. “I’m not asking you to confide in me. But I am asking you to tell me if I’ve done something to offend you.”
Carly let out a short, humorless breath. “You haven’t done anything.”
“Then help me understand.”
The young woman stared at the whiteboard, where Mary had scrawled Justice = Harmony in dry-erase marker. Her throat moved in a swallow.
“I wanted to be your research assistant,” Carly said finally. The words came out tight, controlled, like she was squeezing them through a small opening. “I’ve wanted to work with you since my first year. Your work on community-based feminist methodologies…” She stopped. Shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” Mary said quietly.
“Clearly it doesn’t.” Carly’s voice cracked on the last word. “Because I wasn’t chosen. And I had to find out by reading a departmental email like everyone else. No one talked to me. No one told me I wasn’t good enough to my face.”
Mary let the silence stretch. She understood, suddenly, the shape of the wound. Not rejection, but the manner of it. The facelessness of it.
“The students were selected by a committee,” Mary said carefully. “Not by me individually. I want you to know that.”
Carly’s head turned. Her eyes were bright, but she wasn’t crying. “You didn’t have a say?”
“I had a say. Not the only say.” Mary chose her next words with precision. “And I argued for you, Carly. I specifically requested that you be assigned to my research team.”
The younger woman blinked. Something flickered across her face, surprise, then disbelief, then something softer that she quickly suppressed.
“Then why?”
“I don’t know.” Mary spread her hands. “The committee makes decisions based on a lot of factors. Balance of methodologies. Distribution of faculty mentorship hours. Things that have nothing to do with your ability or my preference.” She paused. “I wanted you. I still want to work with you. That hasn’t changed.”
Carly looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. “It feels like a punishment.”
“It feels like one,” Mary agreed. “But it isn’t. And I’m sorry you found out the way you did. That should have been handled better.”
The admission seemed to disarm Carly more than any argument could have. She sat back, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.
Mary hesitated. She could feel the other question pressing against the inside of her teeth. The question about Aaron, about the closed-door meetings, about the hostility that seemed to predate the research assistant decision. But she didn’t have the words. Didn’t have the proof. Only a gnawing instinct that something was wrong.
So she set it aside.
“Carly,” Mary said, softer now. “I’m going to keep advocating for you. But I need you to meet me halfway. The hostility…the way you’ve been looking at me like I personally betrayed you. That’s making it harder for both of us to do our work. Can we clear the air and start fresh?”
Carly was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded, a short, tight motion.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the words scraped out reluctantly. “For the attitude.”
“Thank you.” Mary stood, gathering her notes. “Come to my office hours on Friday. We’ll talk about your thesis direction. I have some ideas that might interest you.”
Carly stood as well, slower. She hesitated at the door, her hand on the frame. “Professor?”
“Yes?”
“Was there something else?” Carly’s gaze was sharp again, probing. “You looked like you wanted to ask me something. Before.”
Mary’s heart gave a small, traitorous stutter. Tell her. Ask her about Aaron. Just say the words.
But the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know what she was accusing, or even what she suspected. Only that something was off. Only that Carly’s anger seemed too large for a research assistantship rejection.
“Nothing,” Mary said, offering a small, tired smile. “Just glad we talked. I’ll see you Friday.”
Carly studied her for a beat too long, then nodded and disappeared into the hallway.
Mary stood alone in the empty classroom, the scent of dry-erase markers and old carpet filling her lungs. She pressed a hand to her stomach, where something restless and uneasy had taken up residence.
She had handled the debate. She had confronted Carly. She had done her job.
So why did she feel like she had just failed a much more important test?
Need help with the Characters?
Purpose Character List
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December 28, 2025
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Purpose Chapter 1
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October 29, 2025
To distract myself from pure academia, I stated writing short stories. This is an easy read fluffy romance without a lot of polysyllabic words and philosophy. Perfect for writing in-between. When I was a teen, I loved Harlequin Romances, so in the spirit of that here we go, story one.
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Wonderfully written. It really makes you feel as if you are there and a part of their lives.
Oh noooo Mary saying I wanted you and I still want to work with you..?? So softtt I actually had to stop a sec from reading. And then Carly at the door knowing there was still something there, please..! I am over here a little wrecked cuz that ache is doing things to me. 🥴