The Exit Interview

Ivy

The morning sun filtered through the glass-paneled cabin like golden confetti, sprinkling Ivy’s trembling hands with light as she adjusted the mic clipped to her blouse. Her heart pounded louder than the small boom mic perched between her and the retreat’s documentary crew. The same crew she once smiled and waved at casually. Now, she was sitting on a wooden stool under full lighting, every angle capturing her flushed cheeks, nervous eyes, and soul-level ...