Lloyd Martinez stared at his computer screen, pretending to read the same email for the fifteenth time. In reality, he was holding his breath. Again.

Around him, the small open-office space at Embergard Solutions hummed with the usual sounds of keyboard clicks and muffled phone conversations. The November sun streamed through the large windows, illuminating dust that danced in the afternoon light. It should have been pleasant. It wasn’t.

There was something else in the air. Something that had been there for a week now, growing increasingly impossible to ignore.

His team of eight had started bringing in scented candles. Someone, he suspected Sarah from accounting, had strategically placed three plug-in air fresheners near James’s desk, positioned like a protective triangle of lavender-vanilla defense. Yesterday, he’d caught two people having what appeared to be a silent rock-paper-scissors tournament to determine who would sit closest to James during the team meeting. Marcus had lost and spent the entire thirty minutes breathing exclusively through his mouth, his face a mask of polite suffering.

James Chen, oblivious to it all, hunched over his desk just six feet away. His usually neat button-down shirt, he’d worn the same blue one for three days now, was wrinkled and bore what looked suspiciously like coffee stains. His hair, normally combed neatly to the side, stood at odd angles, as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. And the cloud of odor around him was practically visible, like Pig-Pen from the Peanuts comics, except instead of dust it was the unmistakable smell of someone who hadn’t showered in days mixed with the sour tang of dirty laundry.

Lloyd was 28 years old. He’d been a manager for exactly four months and two weeks. His leadership training at Embergard Solutions had covered performance reviews, conflict resolution, delegation strategies, and even sexual harassment prevention. There had been role-playing exercises about difficult conversations. Nobody—absolutely nobody—had prepared him for this.

His phone buzzed. A text from Sarah: “Lloyd. PLEASE. We can’t take much more of this. People are starting to work from the break room.”

Another buzz. This time from Marcus: “Dude. You’re the manager. Do something.”

Lloyd felt his stomach clench. He’d been promoted from individual contributor to team lead back in September, specifically because his previous manager had praised his “emotional intelligence” and “ability to connect with people.” Right now, he felt as emotionally intelligent as a potato.

He glanced over at James again. The young man, only 24 and fresh out of college, was typing intently, his face drawn with concentration. He’d been hired three months ago as a junior analyst, and up until last week, he’d been great. Enthusiastic, quick learner, always on time, always professional. Whatever was happening now was new.

Lloyd grabbed his coffee mug, which was empty but a useful prop, and speed walked toward the HR department on the second floor, taking the stairs two at a time.

The HR department at Embergard Solutions occupied a quiet corner of the second floor, deliberately designed to feel separate from the rest of the office. Soft gray walls, potted plants, comfortable chairs in the waiting area. A place where people could discuss sensitive matters.

Lloyd had been here exactly three times: once for his own onboarding, once for his promotion paperwork, and once when he’d accidentally locked himself out of the building and needed a replacement key card. He’d never needed to come here for actual HR business.

Devin Foster’s office door was open. Devin, at 45 with fifteen years in HR under his belt, had the serene expression of someone who had truly seen everything. He was lean and tall, with graying temples and warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. His desk was meticulously organized, with a small Zen garden in one corner and a coffee mug that read “I’m silently correcting your grammar.”

“Lloyd! What brings you by?” Devin looked up from his computer with genuine friendliness.

Lloyd stepped inside and closed the door a bit too firmly. “I need advice. It’s… delicate.”

“Ah.” Devin leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in a gesture Lloyd recognized from every movie about therapists ever made. “Let me guess. Someone microwaved fish again?”

“I wish.” Lloyd sat down heavily in one of the chairs facing Devin’s desk. “It’s James. James Chen, on my team. He’s… he smells. Really bad. Like hasn’t-showered-in-a-week bad. His clothes are a mess. The whole team is suffering. Like, actually suffering, Devin, but he’s only been with us a few months and I don’t want to destroy his confidence or make him feel unwelcome or give him some kind of complex, but also people are literally holding their breath and working from the break room, and I got three texts just coming up here and …” Lloyd frantically rambled.

“Breathe, Lloyd.” Devin reprieved.

Lloyd breathed. In through the nose—the clean, faintly coffee-scented air of Devin’s office—and out through the mouth.

Devin pulled out a yellow legal pad from his desk drawer with the practiced calm of a therapist, or possibly a bomb disposal expert. “Okay. First, I want you to know this is more common than you think. I’ve dealt with this situation probably a dozen times in my career. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s manageable.”

“Really?” Lloyd felt a small surge of hope.

“Really. Here’s what you’re going to do.” Devin started writing notes as he spoke. “You need to meet with James privately, and I mean very privately. Not in a conference room with glass walls where people can see you talking. Somewhere truly private. Be kind but be direct and honest. Tell him that there’s been an office disruption caused by body odor, and that you need to address it directly with him. Don’t dance around it with euphemisms like ‘some people have mentioned’ or ‘there have been comments.’ Own it. ‘I’ve noticed’ or ‘there is a hygiene concern.’”

Lloyd felt his palms start to sweat. “That sounds terrifying.”

“It is. But it’s also respectful. Dancing around the issue is actually crueler because it prolongs the embarrassment and confusion. Think about it, if you had spinach in your teeth, would you want someone to tell you directly, or would you want them to keep talking to you while secretly being grossed out?”

“Direct. Definitely direct.”

“Exactly. And here’s the important part—give him a chance to go home right away to freshen up. Don’t make him sit through the rest of the workday. This might be a medical issue, a personal crisis, depression, or just someone who genuinely doesn’t realize how bad it’s gotten. Whatever it is, handle it with humanity first.”

Devin tore off the page of notes and handed it to Lloyd. “I’ve written down some exact phrases you can use if you get stuck. And Lloyd? One more thing.”

“Yeah?” Lloyd asked nervously.

“Approach this with curiosity, not judgment. If someone’s hygiene suddenly deteriorates, especially someone who was previously fine, something is usually wrong in their life. You’re not just solving an office problem. You might be the first person to notice that someone needs help.”

Lloyd nodded slowly, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. “Okay. I can do this. I think. Maybe.”

“You’ve got this.” Devin stood and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “And Lloyd? Let me know how it goes. If there’s a bigger issue at play, we might need to get more resources involved.”

A short time after leaving Devin’s office, Lloyd sat in his car in the parking lot for ten minutes before going back inside, reading and re-reading Devin’s notes:

• “I need to discuss something sensitive with you…”
• “There has been a noticeable body odor in the office…”
• “I’m bringing this up because I respect you and want to address it directly…”
• “Is everything okay? Is there anything going on that I should know about?”

His hands were shaking slightly. He was about to have one of the most awkward conversations of his entire life.

But Devin was right. If the roles were reversed, Lloyd would want someone to tell him.

He took a deep breath, pocketed his phone to avoid any distractions, and headed back inside.

Twenty minutes later, Lloyd sat across from James in the smallest conference room on the third floor, officially named “The Nook”, which had no windows and was generally used for private phone calls or people who needed to cry about their performance reviews away from prying eyes. He’d propped the door open slightly so it wouldn’t seem too ominous but closed it enough to ensure privacy.

James had looked confused when Lloyd had asked him to step away for a private conversation, but he’d followed willingly enough. Now he sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, looking young and tired and completely unprepared for what was coming.

Lloyd’s heart hammered in his chest. The smell in the enclosed space was overwhelming, an acrid mix of body odor, unwashed clothing, and something else Lloyd couldn’t quite identify. Despair, maybe, if despair had a smell.

“James, I need to talk to you about something sensitive,” Lloyd began, then paused. His voice had cracked slightly, like a teenager’s. He cleared his throat and tried again. “This is uncomfortable for both of us, but I need to be direct with you because I respect you.”

James’s dark eyes watched him carefully, a hint of worry creeping into his expression.

“There’s been a disruption in the office related to… personal hygiene. Specifically body odor. And I need to address it with you directly.”

James’s eyes widened. His face, already pale, went completely white. Then color flooded back into his cheeks, a deep, mortified red that spread from his neck to his hairline.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I mean, I knew I wasn’t keeping up with things, but I didn’t think…” He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders beginning to shake.

Lloyd felt his heart crack open. This was worse than he’d imagined. “James, are you okay?”

“No. No, I’m really not.” James’s voice was muffled behind his hands. When he finally looked up, his eyes were red and brimming with tears. “My family lives on the East Coast. In Boston. My mom… she passed away. Last Tuesday. It was sudden. A heart attack. She was only 52. And I’ve just been… I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I’ve been walking around in a fog, and I guess I haven’t been taking care of myself. God, I’m so embarrassed. The whole office must think I’m disgusting.”

Lloyd felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Oh, James. I’m so, so sorry. Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you take time off?”

James wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, leaving a wet streak across his cheek. “I don’t know. We don’t know each other that well yet. You just became my manager a few months ago. I thought I could just push through it. My dad and my sister kept calling, asking when I was coming home for the funeral, but I told them I had to work, that I couldn’t just take off when I’m so new. I thought if I could just keep showing up, keep doing my job, maybe I wouldn’t have to think about it so much.” He laughed bitterly, a broken sound. “Clearly, that’s going great.”

“Listen,” Lloyd said gently, pulling his chair closer. The odor no longer his focus. “First of all, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. People understand grief. But you can’t go through this alone, and you definitely can’t ignore it. You might be eligible for time off to be with your family. We have bereavement leave. Let’s go talk to Devin in HR right now. He can help.”

James looked up with something like hope flickering in his eyes. “Really? I can actually take time off?”

“Yes. Absolutely yes. Come on.” Lloyd stood and waited for James to gather himself.

As they left The Nook, James paused. “Lloyd? Thank you. For… for telling me. About the smell. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Lloyd admitted. “But you deserved honesty. And you deserve support. Let’s get you that support.”

The walk from the third floor to Devin’s office felt like it took hours, though it was probably only three minutes. Lloyd walked slightly ahead, giving James space, while also trying to figure out how to explain this situation to Devin without making James feel even worse.

When they reached Devin’s office, Lloyd knocked on the doorframe. Devin looked up with his customary welcoming smile to inquire about the outcome of the meeting with James, which faltered for just a fraction of a second when James entered behind Lloyd. His nostrils flared slightly—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. His eyes flicked to Lloyd with an expression that clearly said, you weren’t kidding about the smell.

But to his credit, Devin’s professionalism snapped back into place instantly. He stood up, his face softening with genuine warmth.

“Devin, this is James Chen from my team. James just shared with me that his mother passed away last week.”

Devin’s expression immediately transformed into one of deep sympathy. “James, I’m so sorry for your loss. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the comfortable chairs in front of his desk, the ones reserved for difficult conversations.

As James settled into the chair, Lloyd sat beside him, a show of solidarity. James took a shaky breath and began explaining the situation again, his voice stronger now than it had been in The Nook, as if having told Lloyd had made it easier to say the words.

“Her name was Linda. Linda Chen. She was a high school math teacher. She loved her students, loved her job. Tuesday morning, she was fine, she called me that night to ask how work was going. Wednesday morning my dad called to tell me she’d had a massive heart attack in her sleep. She was gone before the paramedics arrived.”

Devin listened with the kind of complete, undivided attention that made him exceptional at his job. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t check his computer, didn’t fidget. He just listened.

“I told my family I couldn’t come home right away because I’m new here and I didn’t want to seem unreliable. My sister Emma had to handle most of the funeral arrangements. The service is this Saturday, and I haven’t even booked a flight yet because I kept thinking I should ask permission first, but I didn’t know how, and then I just… I guess I just shut down.”

When James finished, Devin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his voice gentle but firm. “James, I want you to hear me very clearly. You’re entitled to bereavement leave. We offer up to five days of paid leave for the loss of an immediate family member, which includes parents. And honestly, given the circumstances and the fact that your family is across the country, I think we can be flexible if you need more time.”

James’s eyes widened. “Really? I can just… go?”

“You can go right now if you want,” Devin said warmly. “In fact, I think you should. Let me pull up your file.” He turned to his computer and typed rapidly. “Okay, you have plenty of PTO accrued as well, so between bereavement and PTO, we can easily get you two weeks if you need it. The most important thing right now is that you are with your family. They need you, and frankly, you need them.”

“Two weeks?” James’s voice cracked. “I thought… I thought maybe I could get a day or two.”

“James, your mother died. You’re grieving. You’re clearly not okay—and that’s completely understandable and normal. Take the time you need.” Devin pulled out some forms from his desk drawer. “I’ll need you to fill out this bereavement leave request form, but that’ll take five minutes. Then you go home, pack a bag, and book a flight to Boston. Today if possible.”

James stared at the form like it was a winning lottery ticket. Tears spilled down his cheeks again, but this time they seemed like tears of relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I didn’t think… I thought I’d lose my job if I asked.”

Devin’s expression turned serious. “James, I want you to understand something. We aren’t in the business of punishing people for being human. Life happens. Tragedies happen. We build these policies specifically because we know that our employees are people first and workers second. Your job will be here when you get back.”

Lloyd watched the tension drain from James’s shoulders, watched him sit up a little straighter, watched some of the fog lift from his eyes.

“Lloyd,” James said, turning to face him. “Would you… would you mind telling the team? I think they’ve noticed I’ve been off. You can tell them why I’ll be out. I don’t want them to think I’m just flaking out or that I’m some kind of slob. I want them to understand.”

“Of course,” Lloyd said. “I’ll explain everything. You focus on being with your family.”

James nodded, then hesitated. “And Lloyd? I’m sorry. About the smell. About making everyone uncomfortable. I honestly didn’t realize how bad it had gotten.”

“Hey,” Lloyd said firmly. “You have nothing to apologize for. Grief is natural. You weren’t yourself. Now let’s get you back to yourself.”

Devin handed James the paperwork and a pen. “Fill this out, bring it back to me, and then you’re free to go. I’ll process everything this afternoon.”

As James bent over the form, concentrating on the fields, Lloyd caught Devin’s eye. Devin gave him a small nod of approval, and Lloyd felt a surge of gratitude for the older man’s expertise and compassion.

That afternoon, Lloyd gathered his team in the larger conference room on the first floor. All seven of them filed in with expressions ranging from curious to concerned. Sarah, Marcus, Jennifer, Priya, Tom, Rachel, and David. Each of them had worked with James over the past three months, each of them had been affected by the past week.

Lloyd stood at the head of the table, suddenly aware that this was one of those moments that would define the kind of manager he was going to be.

“Hey everyone, thanks for coming. I wanted to talk to you about James.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “James is going to be out of the office for the next week or two. His mother passed away suddenly last Tuesday, and he’s flying home to Boston to be with his family and attend the funeral.”

The room fell silent. The shift in energy was palpable. The irritation and frustration that had been building over the past week evaporated, replaced immediately with shock and sympathy.

“Wait,” Priya said slowly, her eyes widening with realization. “He’s been grieving this whole time. While he was here, working with us?”

“Yes,” Lloyd confirmed. “He didn’t feel like he could take time off because he’s new. He thought he had to just push through it. Obviously, that didn’t work out well. He wanted me to share this with you, so you’d understand why he hasn’t quite been himself, and why he’ll be gone.”

“Oh my God,” Jennifer said quietly. “We were complaining about him. We were making jokes.” She looked stricken.

“You didn’t know,” Lloyd said gently. “None of us knew. But now we do, and now we have a chance to be supportive.”

Rachel raised her hand tentatively, as if they were in school. “Should we send flowers or something? To the funeral home?”

Lloyd smiled. “I think that would be really nice. Actually, a really nice gesture.”

“I’ll organize it,” Sarah said immediately, pulling out her phone. “Does anyone know what his mother’s name was?”

“Linda Chen,” Lloyd said. “The funeral is this Saturday in Boston. If we want to send something, we should do it today or tomorrow.”

“I’m on it,” Sarah said, already typing.

“One more thing,” Lloyd added. “James was embarrassed about the hygiene issue. If anyone mentions it to him when he returns, I will personally make your life miserable with every terrible project I can find. Are we clear?” His slight smirk expressing his sense of humor.

As they divided up James’s work, Lloyd felt a strange sense of pride in his team. They’d gone from irritated to compassionate in seconds. That said something good about the people he worked with.

***

James stood in his apartment that evening, staring at the open suitcase on his bed. He’d showered, twice, scrubbing until his skin was pink and changed into clean clothes. He’d washed his hair, brushed his teeth, trimmed his nails. All the basic maintenance tasks that had seemed impossible for the past week suddenly felt manageable now that he had permission to fall apart.

His studio apartment was small but usually neat. Now it was chaos. Dirty dishes piled in the sink. Laundry overflowing the hamper. Mail scattered across the tiny dining table. The physical manifestation of his mental state.

James finished packing. Black suit for the funeral. Dress shoes that he rarely wore. Several changes of comfortable clothes for just being with family. He triple-checked his wallet, phone charger, toothbrush, the small details that kept life moving forward even when everything else had stopped. He was ready for his trip to Boston.

Saturday morning dawned cold and gray in Boston, the kind of November day that seemed designed for mourning. James stood in the funeral home’s viewing room, wearing his black suit and the tie his mother had given him for his college graduation. His father, Gerald, stood beside him, looking smaller somehow, as if grief had physically diminished him. His sister was on his other side, her hand resting on their father’s arm.

The room was filled with people: teachers from his mother’s school, neighbors, family friends, cousins James hadn’t seen in years. Everyone had a story about Linda Chen. How she’d stayed late to tutor struggling students. How she’d organized the school’s annual math competition. How she’d made the best egg tarts in the neighborhood and always brought extras to share.

James had cried so much over the past few days that he felt hollowed out, like a shell of himself. He moved through the rituals mechanically, accepting condolences, hugging relatives, standing beside the casket and trying not to look too long at his mother’s peaceful face, so still and unlike her.

The flowers surrounded the casket in a riot of color and scent. Roses from the teachers at her school. Orchids from the neighbors. White chrysanthemums from her book club. Each arrangement with a card, each card with a memory or a condolence.

But one arrangement stood out.

It was positioned prominently to the left of the casket. A stunning mix of white lilies and blue hydrangeas, elegant and thoughtful, in a beautiful standing spray that seemed to glow in the soft lighting. The flowers were fresh and perfect, clearly from an expensive florist who knew their craft.

James walked over to it slowly, drawn by something he couldn’t quite name. He pulled out the small white card tucked among the blooms, his hands trembling slightly.

“With our deepest sympathy and condolences. Your mother sounds like she was a wonderful person, and we’re so sorry for your loss. You are in our thoughts during this difficult time. – Lloyd and the team at Embergard Solutions”

James stood there, holding the card, reading it repeatedly. His coworkers, people he’d only known for three months, people who’d had to endure his smell and his disheveled appearance, people who had every reason to be annoyed with him, had done this. They’d taken the time, spent the money, found his sister’s number, coordinated the delivery. They’d cared enough to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.