I knew the afternoon was going to turn messy the second I heard the raised voices from the far end of the floor. Two of the younger ones on my team, both under twenty-five and already convinced they knew better than anyone else, had decided to have a proper go at each other right there by the photocopier. Something about who had signed off on a set of figures, nothing that should have needed more than a quiet word, yet there they were, faces flushed and words flying.
I walked over slowly, heels clicking just loud enough to cut through the noise. The rest of the team went quiet the way they always do when they sense the shift. I did not raise my voice. I never need to. A few calm sentences, eyes steady, and the whole thing folded in on itself. One of them tried a half-hearted protest. I shut that down with a look and a reminder about standards and professionalism. By the time I finished, both of them were staring at the carpet and the rest of the floor had returned to their screens with almost comical speed.
I kept the harsh front going for the rest of the afternoon. Emails answered shortly, questions met with the same firm tone, no room left for chatter or excuses. Inside, though, something quieter and warmer was humming. I do not advertise it, but there is a steady little satisfaction that settles in when everything falls back into line under my watch. It feels like the competitive part of me stretching its legs, the same part that still likes to win even when no one is keeping score. The façade holds, of course. At work I am the stern one, the supervisor who does not smile easily and who expects things done properly the first time. They can think what they like about that. It keeps the numbers clean and the days predictable.
I left a little early once the last of the reports were signed off. The walk home through Hackney felt lighter than usual, the late July air still warm against my skin. By the time I reached the flat I was already peeling off the work clothes, glad to leave the strict version of myself at the door. The shower was pure indulgence. Hot water, steam filling the small bathroom, the kind of long rinse that lets the shoulders drop and the mind wander. I stood there longer than I needed to, eyes closed, feeling the heat work its way into every tight spot left over from the day.
Afterwards I wrapped myself in the softest towel and padded barefoot into the living room, hair still damp and no makeup left to speak of. The flat was quiet in that lovely way it gets when the city is still busy outside but none of it can reach me. I made a cup of tea and sat by the window for a while, thinking about the small power of putting things right and how strangely comforting it can feel. One day the right person will see both sides of me, the stern one and the soft one, and somehow it will all make sense together. Until then these little victories at work and the quiet rewards that follow are enough to keep me steady.
