The BART announcement crackled through the train car at 6:47 AM: "Next station, Fremont. Doors open on the left." Marcus Chen didn't hear it. He'd made this commute so many times—eight years, five days a week, fifty weeks a year—that the announcements had become background noise, like the hum of the tracks or the rustle of other passengers' newspapers. His mind was already at TechFlow, already thinking about the code review he'd left unfinished last night, the architecture decision that had been nagging him for days. The train doors opened, and Marcus stepped onto the platform with the hundred other tech workers heading into San Francisco. The morning light was just beginning to paint the sky in shades of grey and pink, and the air carried that particular Bay Area quality—cool, slightly damp, smelling of distant ocean and nearby concrete. He walked to the parking structure, got in his car, and began the drive to TechFlow's office in the South Bay. The commute gave him time to think, to plan his day, to mentally refactor the code that had been troubling him. It was a routine he'd perfected over years: BART to Fremont, drive to office, Blue Bottle coffee, standup meeting at 9:30, code until lunch. Routine. Predictable. Safe. That was about to change. --- The Slack notification appeared at 8:23 AM. Marcus was at his desk, a standing desk in TechFlow's open office, his mechanical keyboard clicking as he worked through the code review. The notification dot pulsed in his peripheral vision—a small red circle that seemed more insistent than usual. He clicked on it. @all-staff Company-wide announcement at 10:00 AM in the main conference room. Attendance mandatory. Marcus stared at the message. Company-wide announcements were rare at TechFlow. The last one had been six months ago, when they'd announced the Series C funding round. Before that, it had been the acquisition of a small AI startup. AI startup. The thought flickered through his mind and was gone. He returned to the code review, but the notification had planted a seed of unease that he couldn't quite ignore. "Hey, Marcus." He looked up to see David Park, the developer who sat two desks over. David was forty-two, with graying hair and a cynical smile that had become more pronounced over the past year. "Did you see the announcement?" David asked, his voice low. "Yeah. Mandatory meeting at ten." "Any idea what it's about?" Marcus shook his head. "Could be anything. New product launch, organizational changes, another acquisition." David's smile tightened. "Or layoffs. That's what these things usually mean, right? 'Mandatory meeting' is corporate code for 'bring a box for your stuff.'" "You're paranoid," Marcus said, but the word felt hollow even as he said it. "Paranoid?" David laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I've been in this industry for twenty years. I've seen enough 'mandatory meetings' to know what they usually mean." He paused. "Did you hear about the AI coding tool they've been testing?" Marcus felt a chill run through him. "What AI tool?" "Some kind of code generation system. The product team has been using it for months. They call it 'Codex Pro.'" David's voice dropped lower. "Word is, it can write code faster than any of us." Marcus turned back to his screen, his hands suddenly cold on the keyboard. "That's just a tool," he said. "Like autocomplete on steroids. It can't replace actual developers." "Can't it?" David's smile was bitter. "We'll see." --- At 10:00 AM, the entire company gathered in the main conference room. Marcus stood near the back, his arms crossed, watching the faces of his colleagues. Some looked curious, some looked bored, some looked worried. David was in the corner, his expression carefully neutral. At the front of the room, TechFlow's CEO, Michael Torres, stood beside a large screen. Torres was in his early forties, with the confident smile and casual blazer that had become the uniform of Silicon Valley executives. "Good morning, everyone," Torres began. "Thank you for joining us on short notice. I have some exciting news to share." Exciting news. The words were supposed to be reassuring, but Marcus felt his chest tighten. "As many of you know, we've been exploring ways to increase our development velocity and reduce time-to-market for our products," Torres continued. "Today, I'm thrilled to announce the official launch of Codex Pro—our new AI-powered development assistant." The screen behind him flickered to life, showing a demo of the tool. Marcus watched as lines of code appeared on screen, generated in real-time by the AI system. "Codex Pro can write, review, and optimize code at a speed that would take human developers hours to match," Torres said, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "It can identify bugs, suggest improvements, and even architect entire systems based on natural language descriptions." The room was silent. Marcus could feel the tension spreading through the crowd like a wave. "Now, I know what some of you might be thinking," Torres continued, his smile never wavering. "This isn't about replacing our talented engineers. This is about empowering them. Codex Pro will handle the repetitive, mundane tasks so our developers can focus on higher-level problem-solving and innovation." Empowering. The word felt like a lie. "We're calling this initiative 'Project Evolution,'" Torres said. "Over the coming months, we'll be integrating Codex Pro into all our development workflows. Some roles will evolve. Some positions may be... optimized." Optimized. There it was. The corporate euphemism for elimination. "But I want to assure everyone that this is about growth, not reduction," Torres continued. "We're committed to supporting our team through this transition. HR will be scheduling individual meetings over the next few weeks to discuss how your roles might evolve." The meeting ended twenty minutes later, but Marcus barely heard the rest. His mind was racing, processing the implications of what he'd just seen. Codex Pro. An AI that could write code faster than any human. An AI that could review code, optimize systems, architect solutions. An AI that could do his job. The rest of the day passed in a blur. Marcus sat at his desk, staring at his screen, but the code that had seemed so important that morning now felt meaningless. The mechanical keyboard clicked under his fingers, but the sound was different now—hollow, like a reminder of something that might soon be obsolete. Around him, the office continued its usual rhythm. People typed, people talked, people went to meetings. But there was an undercurrent of tension that hadn't been there before. Conversations were quieter. Smiles were tighter. At 2:30 PM, Marcus saw David get called into a meeting room. David walked in with his usual sarcastic smile, but when he came out fifteen minutes later, his face was pale. He didn't return to his desk. Instead, he walked straight to the elevator, carrying a small box that Marcus hadn't noticed him bring in. David. Marcus started to stand, to go after him, but something stopped him. Fear, maybe. Or the knowledge that there was nothing he could say that would make a difference. He watched the elevator doors close, and David was gone. That night, Marcus couldn't sleep. He lay in bed, Sarah's warm presence beside him, the house quiet around them. The children were asleep in their rooms down the hall—Emma, seven, and Lucas, four—and their peaceful breathing should have been comforting. But all Marcus could think about was Codex Pro. And David. And the pale face of a man who'd just lost his job. What does this mean for me? The question circled in his mind, a loop he couldn't escape. He was thirty-eight years old. He'd been a developer for fifteen years. He was good at his job—senior architect, respected by his peers, trusted with the most complex systems. But was that enough? He thought about the demo he'd seen. The AI generating code faster than any human could type. The AI identifying bugs in seconds that would take a human hours to find. The AI optimizing systems with a precision that no human could match. What can I do that it can't? The question terrified him, because he didn't have an answer. At 2:17 AM, Marcus got out of bed and went to his home office. The room was dark, lit only by the glow of his laptop screen. He sat down, opened a browser, and typed: "AI replacing developers" The search results were overwhelming. Article after article about the future of software development. Blog posts from developers who'd already been displaced. News stories about companies laying off engineering teams and replacing them with AI systems. Marcus read until his eyes burned. He read about GitHub Copilot, about ChatGPT, about the new generation of AI coding tools that were transforming the industry. He read about developers who'd spent years building their careers, only to find themselves obsolete in a matter of months. He read until the sun began to creep through the window, painting the room in shades of grey and gold. And when Sarah found him there at 6:30 AM, still in his pajamas, staring at the screen with hollow eyes, she didn't ask what was wrong. She already knew. "Marcus?" Sarah's voice was soft, careful. "You've been up all night." He looked up at her, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say. Sarah was thirty-six, with dark hair and warm eyes that had seen him through a decade of late nights and missed dinners and weekends spent at the office. She'd supported him through the startup that failed, through the job search that followed, through the long climb to his current position. She'd always believed in him. And now, sitting there in the early morning light, he wasn't sure he believed in himself. "Did you see the announcement?" he asked, his voice rough. "The AI thing?" She sat down beside him. "I saw the news. Everyone's talking about it." "David was let go yesterday." Sarah's expression shifted. "Oh, Marcus. I'm sorry." "He was called into a meeting, and fifteen minutes later, he was gone. Just like that." Marcus's hands were trembling. "Fifteen years of experience, and they let him go without even a warning." "Maybe it wasn't related to the AI announcement." "Maybe." Marcus laughed bitterly. "Or maybe it was exactly related. Maybe they're starting with the older developers. The ones who cost more. The ones who can be replaced." Sarah reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were warm, grounding. "You don't know that. You're a senior architect. You have institutional knowledge that no AI can replace." "Do I?" Marcus pulled up one of the articles he'd been reading. "Look at this. 'AI systems can now analyze entire codebases, understand architectural patterns, and generate optimized solutions.' What institutional knowledge do I have that can't be encoded?" "Marcus..." "I've spent fifteen years learning to write code," he continued, his voice rising. "Fifteen years. And now some AI can do it faster, better, cheaper. What was it all for?" Sarah was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "What do you want to do?" The question caught him off guard. "What do you mean?" "I mean, what do you want to do? Do you want to keep worrying about something that might not happen? Or do you want to go to work, do your job, and see what actually happens?" Marcus stared at her. "You think I'm overreacting." "I think you're scared. And that's understandable." She squeezed his hand. "But you can't control what the company does. You can only control how you respond." How I respond. The words echoed in his mind. "I don't know how to respond," he admitted. "I don't know what to do." "Then maybe that's where you start," Sarah said. "Figure out what you can do that the AI can't. Figure out what makes you valuable beyond just writing code." She stood, kissed him on the forehead, and went to wake the children for school. Marcus sat in the quiet room, her words still ringing in his ears. What makes me valuable beyond writing code? He didn't have an answer. But for the first time since the announcement, he had a question that felt productive instead of paralyzing. At 8:47 AM, Marcus got into his car and began the drive to work. The morning light was bright now, the Bay Area sky a pale, cloudless blue. The roads were crowded with other commuters, other tech workers heading to other offices, other companies that were probably having the same conversations about AI and automation and the future of work. Marcus gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. His laptop bag sat on the passenger seat, heavy with the weight of uncertainty. What makes me valuable? The question stayed with him as he drove, as he parked, as he walked into the TechFlow building. It stayed with him as he got his Blue Bottle coffee, as he walked to his desk, as he saw the empty space where David used to sit. The space was already clean, already cleared of any trace of the person who'd worked there for three years. It was as if David had never existed. Marcus sat down at his desk and stared at his screen. The code review from yesterday was still open, the cursor blinking patiently, waiting for him to continue. But he couldn't focus. All he could think about was the AI. Codex Pro. The tool that could write code faster than any human. What can I do that it can't? He didn't know. But he knew he had to find out. That afternoon, Marcus received an email from HR. Subject: Project Evolution - Individual Consultation Dear Marcus, As part of our Project Evolution initiative, we'd like to schedule a consultation to discuss how your role might evolve with the integration of Codex Pro. Please select a time that works for your schedule. Best regards, Human Resources Marcus read the email three times. The words were polite, professional, even encouraging. But underneath the corporate language, he could hear the threat. How your role might evolve. He'd been in this industry long enough to know what that meant. He selected a time slot—Wednesday at 2:00 PM—and closed his laptop. The office hummed around him, keyboards clicking, conversations murmuring, the air conditioning humming its constant, monotonous drone. Everything looked the same as it had yesterday. Everything felt different. Marcus looked at the empty desk where David used to sit, and for the first time since the announcement, he felt something beyond fear. He felt anger. This isn't right, he thought. This isn't how you treat people. But what could he do? He was just one developer, one employee, one small cog in a machine that was being restructured without his consent. He had a mortgage. He had a family. He had responsibilities that couldn't be set aside for principle. And so, like everyone else, he went back to work. But the question stayed with him, burning in the back of his mind: What happens when they decide I'm no longer needed? That night, after the children were asleep, Marcus sat at the kitchen table with Sarah. "The meeting is Wednesday," he said. Sarah looked up from her phone. "The HR meeting?" "Yeah. They want to discuss 'how my role might evolve.'" He made air quotes, his voice bitter. "What do you think they'll say?" "I don't know." Marcus ran his hands through his hair. "Maybe they'll tell me I'm being 'optimized.' Maybe they'll tell me I'm being promoted. Maybe they'll tell me nothing at all." Sarah reached across the table and took his hand. "Whatever happens, we'll figure it out." "How?" Marcus's voice cracked. "I'm thirty-eight years old. I have a mortgage, two kids, and a career that might be obsolete in six months. How do we figure that out?" "One step at a time." Sarah's voice was steady, calm. "That's how we figure everything out. One step at a time." Marcus looked at her, at the woman who'd been his partner for twelve years. She'd seen him through every crisis, every setback, every moment of doubt. And she was still here, still holding his hand, still believing in him. "I'm scared," he admitted. "I know." She squeezed his hand. "I'm scared too. But we'll face it together." Together. The word was small, but it carried the weight of everything. Marcus nodded slowly. "One step at a time." "One step at a time," Sarah repeated. And in the quiet of their kitchen, with the children sleeping down the hall and the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them, they held onto each other and tried to believe that everything would be okay. But in the back of Marcus's mind, the question still burned: What happens when one step isn't enough?
David's desk was empty by noon. Marcus watched from across the open office as the facilities team cleared away the last traces of his colleague's presence. The mechanical keyboard, the ergonomic mouse, the coffee mug with the faded startup logo, all of it packed into a cardboard box that looked pathetically small for three years of someone's life. No one talked about it. The office hummed with its usual rhythm, keyboards clicking, Slack notifications dinging, the low murmur of a video call from the conference room. But underneath the normalcy, Marcus could feel the tension, like static electricity before a storm. This could be me. The thought had been circling in his mind since yesterday, a vulture waiting for its moment. David was forty-two, a senior developer with twenty years of experience. He'd been at TechFlow longer than Marcus. He'd mentored half the engineering team. And now he was gone. --- The farewell lunch was scheduled for 1:00 PM in the break room. Marcus walked in to find a spread of pizza and beer, corporate America's universal gesture of apology. The room was crowded with engineers, product managers, designers, all standing in awkward clusters, holding paper plates and trying to look like they weren't uncomfortable. David stood near the window, a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. But Marcus could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles whitened around the bottle. "Hey." Marcus approached him. "How are you holding up?" David's smile tightened. "How do you think? I just got 'optimized' out of existence." "I'm sorry, man. This is... " "Bullshit?" David laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Seven years, Marcus. Seven years of late nights and missed weekends and building their entire backend infrastructure. And they replace me with a fucking algorithm." Marcus glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention. "What do you mean, algorithm?" "Codex Pro." David took a long drink of his beer. "They're testing it on my projects. The code review I was supposed to do this week? AI finished it in twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, Marcus. It would have taken me two days." The words hit Marcus like a physical blow. "They're already using it?" "They've been using it for months. Quietly. Testing it on small tasks, comparing the output to human developers." David's voice dropped lower. "You know what they found? The AI is faster, cheaper, and makes fewer mistakes. The only thing it can't do is the creative work, the architectural decisions, the complex problem-solving." "But that's... " Marcus started. "That's what they keep us around for. For now." David finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the windowsill. "But how long do you think it'll take them to figure out that part too?" Marcus didn't have an answer. "You should be worried," David continued, his eyes meeting Marcus's. "You're senior architect. You think you're safe? Think again. They'll start with the juniors, then the mid-levels, then the seniors. And by the time they get to you, there won't be anywhere left to go." The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. Marcus's chest tightened. "David, I... " "I'm not trying to scare you." David reached out and gripped Marcus's shoulder. "I'm trying to warn you. This isn't just about me. This is about all of us. They're not replacing us with better people. They're replacing us with software." He released Marcus's shoulder and turned to face the room. "Anyway," he said, his voice louder now, "I should mingle. Say goodbye to the people who are still employed." He walked away, leaving Marcus standing alone by the window, his heart pounding in his chest. --- The rest of the lunch passed in a blur. Marcus went through the motions, shaking hands, offering condolences, making promises to stay in touch. But his mind was elsewhere, running calculations he didn't want to run. What percentage of my work can the AI do? He thought about his typical day. Code reviews: the AI could handle those. Bug fixes: the AI could handle those too. Feature implementation: the AI was already proving it could generate code faster than any human. What was left? Architecture decisions. System design. The kind of high-level thinking that required years of experience and deep understanding of the codebase. But how much of his job was actually that? Twenty percent? Thirty? What if David was right? What if the AI can do eighty percent of my work? The thought made his stomach clench. He forced himself to eat another slice of pizza, but it tasted like cardboard in his mouth. Around 2:30 PM, David made his exit. He walked through the office with his cardboard box, stopping at each desk to say a final goodbye. When he reached Marcus, he paused. "Take care of yourself," David said quietly. "And don't let them make you feel like you're the problem. You're not the problem. They are." Then he was gone, the elevator doors closing behind him with a soft chime. At 3:00 PM, Marcus went to the bathroom. He stood at the sink, splashing cold water on his face, trying to calm the racing thoughts that had been chasing each other since the farewell lunch. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, clinical glow. Eighty percent. The number kept repeating in his mind. Eighty percent of his work could be done by an AI. Eighty percent of his value could be automated away. What am I supposed to do with the remaining twenty percent? He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was pale, his eyes hollow. He looked like a man who hadn't slept, which was accurate, he'd been awake since 2 AM, reading articles about AI and automation and the future of work. What makes me valuable? The question that Sarah had asked him yesterday still didn't have an answer. He was a good developer. He was a good architect. But was that enough? His chest tightened again, and this time, it didn't loosen. Oh no. Marcus gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white. His heart was racing now, pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. What's happening to me? He tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. The air felt thick, heavy, like trying to breathe through a wet cloth. His vision blurred at the edges. Am I having a heart attack? The thought terrified him, which only made his heart race faster. He could hear it now, a thunderous drumbeat in his ears, drowning out the hum of the fluorescent lights. No. No, this isn't a heart attack. This is... He didn't know what this was. He'd never experienced anything like it before. His whole body felt like it was vibrating, like every nerve was firing at once. Help. I need help. But he couldn't move. His legs felt like they were made of lead. He was frozen in front of the mirror, watching his own face contort with fear. Think. Think about what Sarah said. He tried to remember her words from that morning. One step at a time. But how could he take one step at a time when he couldn't even breathe? Focus on something. Anything. He looked at his hands, still gripping the sink. The white of his knuckles. The tremor in his fingers. My hands are shaking. He focused on that. The shaking. The physical sensation of it. Not the fear, not the racing heart, just the shaking. My hands are shaking because I'm scared. The thought was simple, almost obvious. But it helped. It gave him something to hold onto. My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. I'm scared. This is fear. He took another breath, and this time, a little more air made it into his lungs. This is fear. This is just fear. He didn't know where the thought came from, but it felt right. This wasn't a heart attack. This was fear, pure, unfiltered, overwhelming fear. And fear can't kill me. He held onto that thought like a lifeline. Fear can't kill me. He repeated it over and over, a mantra against the chaos. Slowly, gradually, his breathing began to steady. His heart rate began to slow. The trembling in his hands began to ease. After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Marcus let go of the sink and stood up straight. His reflection looked back at him, pale, sweaty, eyes wide. What the hell was that? He didn't know. But he knew he couldn't tell anyone about it. Not Sarah. Not his colleagues. Not anyone. If people knew he was having panic attacks, they'd think he couldn't handle the pressure. They'd think he was weak. They'd think he was exactly the kind of person who should be replaced by an AI. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a paper towel, and walked back to his desk. The rest of the afternoon passed in a fog. Marcus sat at his computer, trying to work, but his mind kept drifting back to the bathroom. What had happened to him? Why had his body reacted that way? It was a panic attack, he thought. That's what they call it. He'd heard of panic attacks before, of course. He'd read about them in articles about mental health, about anxiety disorders. But he'd never imagined he would have one. He was Marcus Chen, senior architect, respected engineer, steady and reliable. Apparently not so steady. He tried to focus on his code, but the lines blurred together. He kept thinking about David's words: They're not replacing us with better people. They're replacing us with software. Was that true? Was that what was happening? He opened a new browser tab and typed: "what percentage of developer work can AI automate" The search results were overwhelming. Study after study showed that AI could handle anywhere from 40% to 80% of typical developer tasks. Code generation, bug fixing, testing, documentation, all of it could be automated. What's left for me? The question was terrifying. He'd built his entire identity around being a developer. He'd spent fifteen years learning, growing, becoming an expert. And now, that expertise was being rendered obsolete. What do I do? He didn't know. But he knew he couldn't sit at his desk anymore, couldn't pretend that everything was normal. At 5:30 PM, he packed up his laptop and left. The drive home was long. Traffic was heavy on 880, the usual crawl of commuters heading back to the East Bay. Marcus sat in the gridlock, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his mind racing. What if I lose my job? The question had been lurking in the back of his mind since yesterday, but now it was front and center. What if he lost his job? What would happen to the mortgage? To the kids' school? To the life they'd built? We'd figure it out, he thought. Sarah would get a job. We'd downsize. We'd make it work. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't that simple. Sarah had given up her career when Emma was born, had stayed home with the kids for seven years. Getting back into the workforce wouldn't be easy. And even if she did, her salary as a former teacher wouldn't come close to covering their expenses. We need my income. The realization hit him like a weight. He was the primary breadwinner. His job wasn't just about his identity, it was about survival. What happens if I can't find another job? He thought about David, about all the other developers who'd been laid off in the past year. The tech industry was contracting, consolidating, automating. Even if he lost his job and found another one, how long would that last? What if this is the end of my career? The thought was too dark to hold. He pushed it away, focused on the road, on the red taillights stretching out before him. One step at a time, he reminded himself. That's what Sarah said. But what if one step at a time wasn't enough? When Marcus got home, Sarah was in the kitchen, making dinner. The smell of garlic and onions filled the house, a familiar comfort that usually made him relax. But tonight, even the aroma couldn't quiet the storm in his mind. "Hey," Sarah said, looking up from the stove. "You're home early." "Traffic wasn't too bad." The lie came easily, automatically. Sarah studied him for a moment. "How was David's last day?" "It was..." Marcus paused, trying to find the right word. "Hard." "I bet." She turned back to the stove. "Are you okay?" The question was simple, but it felt loaded. Was he okay? No, he wasn't okay. He'd just watched his colleague get laid off, had his first panic attack, and spent the drive home imagining the end of his career. But he couldn't tell Sarah that. She had enough to worry about. "I'm fine," he said. "Just tired." Sarah nodded, but her eyes lingered on him for a moment too long. She knew something was wrong. She always knew. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes," she said. "Emma has homework she needs help with." "Okay." Marcus headed toward the living room. "I'll go check on her." But as he walked away, he could feel Sarah's gaze on his back, could feel the weight of her unasked questions. She knows, he thought. She knows I'm not okay. But she didn't push. She never pushed. She just waited, patient and steady, for him to come to her. And he would. Eventually. But not tonight. Tonight, he needed to hold it together, to be the husband and father his family needed. Tomorrow, he could fall apart. That night, after the children were asleep, Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. Sarah came out of the bathroom, her face freshly washed, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked at him, and her expression softened. "Marcus, what's wrong?" He looked up at her, at the woman who'd been his partner for twelve years. He wanted to tell her everything, about David, about the panic attack, about the fear that had been eating at him since the AI announcement. But the words wouldn't come. "I'm just worried about work," he said finally. "The AI thing. David's layoff." Sarah sat down beside him. "I know. It's scary." "It's not just scary." Marcus's voice cracked. "It's... I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I've spent fifteen years building this career, and now it feels like it's all being taken away." Sarah reached out and took his hand. "Your career isn't being taken away. It's changing. And you'll change with it." "How do you know?" "Because you're smart, and you're adaptable, and you've never let anything defeat you." She squeezed his hand. "This is a challenge. But you'll figure it out. We'll figure it out." Marcus looked at her, at the confidence in her eyes. She believed in him. Even when he didn't believe in himself, she believed in him. "I had a panic attack today," he said quietly. Sarah's expression shifted. "What?" "At work. In the bathroom." He looked down at his hands. "I couldn't breathe. My heart was racing. I thought I was dying." "Oh, Marcus." Sarah pulled him into a hug. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I didn't want to worry you." "Worry me?" She pulled back, her eyes searching his face. "You're my husband. Of course I worry about you. That's what marriage is." Marcus felt tears sting his eyes. "I'm scared, Sarah. I'm scared I'm going to lose everything." "I know." She held him tighter. "But you're not going to lose everything. You have me. You have the kids. You have a family that loves you, no matter what happens with your job." No matter what happens. The words were comforting, but they didn't solve the problem. They didn't pay the mortgage or put food on the table or keep the life they'd built from crumbling. But they were something. They were proof that he wasn't alone. "I love you," he said. "I love you too." Sarah kissed his forehead. "We'll get through this. Together." Together. Marcus held onto that word as they got ready for bed, as they lay in the dark, as the house settled into silence around them. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He didn't know if he'd still have a job in six months, or if the AI would continue its slow march through the engineering department. But he knew one thing: he wasn't going to face it alone. And for now, that was enough.