The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.
Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…
I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.
Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.
When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.
One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”
Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”
“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.
“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”
She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never materialized.
Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.
I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.
Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.
“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”
“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”
As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.
Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.
Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”
Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”
Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”
My Boss Terminated Me for Wearing Thrift Store Attire – My Colleagues Came to My Defense and Delivered a Powerful Lesson
When the company owner barged in and abruptly fired me for wearing second-hand clothes, my world imploded. Little did I know, my co-workers were planning an act that would turn everything around and emphasize the true strength of our workplace community.
Never did I think that buying clothes from a thrift store would cost me my job. But life’s full of surprises, especially when you’re a single mother struggling to make ends meet.
It began like any other Tuesday morning. I was at my desk, taking calls and welcoming clients with my usual cheer. The office buzzed with its routine hustle — keys clacking, printers working, and the aroma of fresh coffee in the air.
Kate from HR peeked around the corner. “Hey Claire, how are the kids?”
“Oh, you know,” I chuckled. “Sophie’s engrossed in her science project, and Noah’s set on memorizing every dinosaur name.”
Kate smiled. “Sounds like you have your hands full.”
“Always,” I said. “But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
Just then, the elevator chimed. The doors opened to reveal a familiar face I hadn’t seen in over a year — Victor, the company owner.
Panic surged through me. I quickly stood, smoothing my thrift store blouse. “Good morning, Mr. Harrison! Welcome back!”
Victor’s eyes narrowed at me, his expression hardening. “What are you wearing?”
I glanced at my outfit, puzzled. “I — ”
“Is this how you present yourself to our clients?” he demanded loudly. “In these… these rags?”
The office fell silent, every eye on us.
“Mr. Harrison, I — ”
“No excuses,” he interrupted. “A receptionist’s attire should reflect our brand. You’re terminated. Leave immediately.”
My world spun. “But sir, I’m a single mom. I can’t — ”
“Out!” he shouted. “Now!”
Tears stung as I gathered my belongings. Kate tried to intervene, but Victor silenced her with a glare.
The drive home was a blur. How would I explain this to Sophie and Noah? How would we survive? I unlocked our apartment door, and there they were — my little warriors.
Sophie instantly knew something was wrong. “Mom, what happened?”
I hugged them close, the smell of grape juice and play-doh soothing me. “I lost my job today, sweethearts.”
Noah hugged me tighter. “It’s okay, Mommy. We still love you.”
I stifled a sob. “I love you too, munchkins. So much.”
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