Late at night, drowning in paperwork dumped by my overbearing boss, I got a call that shattered everything—my mother was getting married, and I wasn’t invited.
I didn’t know what hurt more: the secret… or the fear of what—or who—she was hiding.
I was at my desk in the office, eyes tired, neck stiff, fingers aching from a full day of typing numbers and rewriting the same report three times.
The glow of my monitor flickered across the pile of unfinished paperwork, casting long shadows on the desk like crooked fingers pointing out all I hadn’t done.
Outside the window, the sky had turned a deep indigo. Streetlights blinked on, one by one, like they weren’t quite sure if it was time yet.
The hum of the fluorescent lights above buzzed low, adding to the weight pressing down on my shoulders.
I reached for my coat, finally ready to call it a night, when the door creaked open. In walked
Michael—my boss.
Mid-50s, always in a crisp shirt like he ironed it with a ruler, and eyes that looked right through you like you weren’t even there.
He had that kind of calm that made you nervous.
Without a word, he dropped a fresh stack of reports onto my desk.
Papers fanned out like an avalanche.
“Need this done tonight,” he said, cool as ever.
“I’ll need the report by morning.”
I blinked, then looked at the clock. 7:53 PM.
“Michael, it’s almost eight,” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “I’ve been here since—”
“It has to be done,” he said flatly, already turning away.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t snap.
He always did this—pushed his load on me at the end of the day like I didn’t have a life of my own. Like my time didn’t matter.
At the door, he paused, one hand on the frame.
“One more thing…” He looked back at me, eyes narrowed like he wanted to say something important. But then he shook his head.
“Never mind.
Some other time.”
And he was gone.
I sat back in my chair, fists clenched, heart pounding. Six more months, I told myself. Just six.
Then I’d be done with this place.
I wanted more than this. More than late nights and cold coffee and the quiet throb of never being enough.
When I finally made it to my car and cranked the engine, the heater blasted stale air into my face. My phone rang.
“Alice!” Aunt Jenny’s voice chirped.
“Don’t forget—you’re giving me a ride to the wedding!”
“What wedding?” I asked, fumbling with the seatbelt.
She laughed like I’d just told a joke.
“Oh you—don’t tell me you forgot your mama’s big day!”
My hand froze.
“Mom’s getting married?”
The line went silent.
“She didn’t tell you?”
I ended the call without another word.
And drove straight to Mom’s house.
I stood in front of Mom’s house, my breath fogging in the cool evening air.
The porch light flickered above me, casting a pale yellow glow that made everything feel colder.
My heart was thudding in my chest like a trapped hummingbird, wild and unsure.
When she opened the door, it hit me all over again—how familiar she looked, and how far away she suddenly felt.
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