“Next on the agenda,” Marcus said, tapping his pen against the glossy table. “The DEI program.”

The room fell silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning. Amelia watched as her colleagues exchanged loaded glances, their expressions a blend of impatience and resistance. She could already hear the undercurrent of what they wouldn’t say out loud: Here we go again.

She cleared her throat. “As you all know, the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiative is designed to address long-standing disparities within our workforce and—”

“Cost us millions,” interrupted Charles, the CFO, his voice dripping with irritation. “Look, Amelia, no one’s saying diversity isn’t important, but these mandatory trainings and hiring quotas are alienating our top performers.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Amelia’s hand tightened around her coffee cup.

“This isn’t about quotas,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “It’s about creating a workplace where everyone—regardless of their background—feels valued.”

“Yeah, but what about our bottom line?” someone else muttered, barely audible.

Amelia’s gaze swept the room. These were the same people who had applauded her appointment as Chief People Officer two years ago, the same people who had congratulated her on bringing a “fresh perspective.” Now, they looked at her like she was a liability.

“Let’s table this for now,” Marcus said, cutting through the tension. “We’ll revisit next quarter.”

The meeting adjourned, and the room emptied, leaving Amelia alone. She stared at the boardroom walls, adorned with framed photos of smiling employees from corporate retreats—pictures that now felt like propaganda.

Her phone buzzed on the table: an email from a Black employee who had left the company last week. The subject line read, “Why I Had to Quit.” Amelia hesitated, then opened it.

“I came here believing I could make a difference. But every time I spoke up, I was ignored, dismissed, or told to ‘stay in my lane.’ I hope you succeed where I couldn’t. But I couldn’t keep fighting alone.”

Amelia closed the email, her chest tight. For months, she had fought for change, advocating for policies she believed in, only to be met with hostility and indifference. She had told herself it was worth it, that change was slow. But now, she wasn’t so sure.

The door opened, and Marcus stepped back in. “Amelia, you okay?”

She looked at him, the man who had championed her hiring but had stayed silent in the meeting. “Do you think this matters?” she asked, her voice low.

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “I think it’s complicated.”

“No,” she said, standing. “It’s not.”

As she left the boardroom, Amelia caught her reflection in the glass door. She barely recognized herself—tired, worn, yet with a spark of resolve still burning.

If they wouldn’t stand with her, she’d stand alone. Because some things were worth fighting for, no matter the cost.