The Secret My Boss Hid
I felt her behind me before she even spoke.
Margaret. My boss. Always perfect. Always cold. The kind of woman who could cut you down with just one look.
I barely had time to turn before she barked, “My office. Now.”
No small talk. No How are you? Just straight to it.
I was late. Again.
She let me have it. “This job is too much for you!” Her sharp tone was laced with disgust.
I tried to explain. Three kids. No help. Running on two hours of sleep. But she didn’t care.
“Being a single mom is your problem, not mine!”
I felt that like a punch to the chest. My vision blurred, but I refused to break in front of her.
“You’ll never understand,” I whispered, shaking.
Margaret’s lip curled. “You have nothing but this job!”
The office went silent. Everyone had heard.
For the first time, Margaret’s face faltered.
Something flickered in her eyes—pain, maybe? Regret? But it was gone in an instant.
I didn’t care. I walked out.
The Next Morning
I walked into the office, my resignation letter clenched in my fist.
I wasn’t going to let her humiliate me again. I planned to drop it on her desk and walk out before she even arrived.
But as I stepped inside, I froze.
Her desk drawer was slightly open.
Just enough to catch my eye.
I don’t snoop. I’m not that person.
But something about it felt… off.
Before I knew it, my fingers brushed the handle. I hesitated—then pulled it open.
Inside, nestled between a stack of folders, was a small, framed photo.
I picked it up.
And gasped.
Oh my God.
The woman in the picture? Younger, smiling. Margaret.
And in her arms—
A little boy.
My breath hitched. Margaret had a child?
I stared, my mind racing.
Then a realization hit me like a freight train.
The boy looked exactly like one of my kids at that age. Same bright eyes. Same mischievous grin.
I turned the frame over. Faded ink read:
“Ethan, 1997.”
I swallowed hard. Margaret had been a mother.
Had been.
A single mother.
But where was he now?
I heard footsteps. Margaret.
I barely had time to slide the drawer shut before she walked in.
She stopped short, eyes narrowing at the sight of me.
And for the first time, I saw it.
Not just coldness. Not just cruelty.
A deep, buried pain.
She wasn’t just mocking me. She wasn’t just cruel for no reason.
She saw herself in me.
And she hated it.