I stared at my coffee machine, willing it to hurry up. The minutes stretched, dragging on like hours.
Behind me, my kids were already a whirlwind of noise and mess. My two sons and daughter were shrieking, laughing, and flinging food.
“Ethan, stop!” Madison yelled.
“He started it!” Ethan shot back.
I sighed, clutching my coffee mug. It was the only thing keeping me from losing it.
“Shoes on, backpacks ready!” I called, hoping they’d listen without a fight. They didn’t.
Ethan bolted down the hall, sliding in his socks. “Mom, make him stop!” Madison groaned.
I set my coffee down and rubbed my temples. “Ethan—”
Too late. He was already halfway across the house, laughing like a villain.
I glanced at the clock. I was going to be late for work again.
Frustration welled up, but underneath it was guilt. I loved my kids, but some days felt like I was chasing my tail—constantly cleaning and struggling to keep up.
After dropping the kids off, I rushed to work, hoping I could sneak in unnoticed. No such luck.
Laura spotted me immediately. “Bad morning?”
I sighed. “Let’s just say oatmeal shouldn’t be a weapon.”
She chuckled. “Could be worse. My cat dragged a mouse into my bed at 3 a.m.”
I grimaced. “That’s worse.”
Before I could reply, I felt the presence of my boss, Margaret.
Her sharp eyes scanned me. “Missed the memo about professional attire?” she said coldly.
Heat rose in my neck. “I—”
“Come to my office,” she ordered, already walking away.
Inside, she wasted no time. “You were late. Again. This is becoming a pattern.”
I apologized. “My kids—”
“They’re not an excuse for being unprofessional.”
I swallowed, trying to stay calm. “It’s about juggling responsibilities. You wouldn’t understand.”
Her eyes darkened. “Being a single mother was your choice. If you can’t handle it, maybe you shouldn’t have had three children.”
That pushed me over the edge. “And maybe you shouldn’t judge something you know nothing about,” I snapped. “You have nothing but this job.”
For the first time, Margaret’s expression faltered. But I didn’t wait for a reply. I stormed out, slamming the door behind me.
I knew I was probably going to be fired. The rest of the day dragged, each moment feeling longer as I waited for Margaret to call me into her office.
By lunchtime, curiosity gnawed at me. I leaned over to Laura. “She hasn’t come out?”
Laura shook her head. “Nope.”
When the door finally creaked open, Margaret emerged, her usual coldness replaced by something softer—eyes red-rimmed, face blank.
That night, I found myself standing in front of Margaret’s house, clutching my resignation letter. I knocked, and when she opened the door, she was unrecognizable—messy hair, swollen eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “For what I said. I didn’t know.”
Margaret’s voice trembled. “No one does.”
She confessed she had once been like me—juggling work and motherhood—until she lost her daughter, Liza. That’s when I realized why she’d been so harsh with me.
“I didn’t mean to judge you,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was just jealous. You still get to be a mother.”
Then, in an unexpected moment, I hugged her. She stiffened at first, then melted into the embrace, sobbing quietly.
“You’re not alone,” I whispered. “And it’s not too late to have a family.”
Margaret laughed softly, pulling away. “Who would want me as a mother?”
I smiled through tears. “Well… I know three kids who could use a strong, smart role model.”
Her face softened as Madison, Ethan, and Ben tumbled out of the car. Margaret gasped.
Madison ran up and hugged her. “Mom says you make the best waffles!”
Margaret smiled, a real smile, not the practiced one she showed at work.
She turned to me, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
I smiled back. “One less empty seat at the table.”
And that day, we both gained something we had lost.
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