Part 1My Cruel Boss Is My Father

All because I was trying to be helpful and washed my boss’s coffee mug.

His wife threw a cup of scalding hot chai latte right in my face, soaking my clothes.

She shoved me against the wall, her face contorted with rage.

"Look at yourself! You really think you have what it takes to seduce my husband?"

The hot liquid blistered my hands instantly.

I tried to shake my head, to wave my hands in desperate denial, but she wouldn’t stop screaming.

"No wonder your mother is rotting away in a hospital bed! She’s probably dying of shame from raising a pathetic, fatherless mistake like you. I hope she dies sooner so she’s out of her misery!"

I gripped the dish towel in my hands, a white-hot fury pushing me to the brink of sanity.

Then, her eyes caught the glint of the silver ring hanging from my neck, slipped beneath my collar. Her face twisted into something truly monstrous.

"You’re wearing a ring with my husband’s initials? What lie are you going to spin now, you home-wrecking bitch?"

She snatched the chain, ripping the ring from my throat, threw it onto the floor, and ground her heel right into it.

That was when my boss pushed the door open.

He didn’t even glance at his wife. He walked straight toward me.

Kneeling down, he reached for the warped silver band.

His hands were shaking. His eyes were bloodshot and brimming with tears.

And then, he whispered a name I hadn’t heard in twenty years.

* * *

At dawn, the hospital’s billing department woke me with a call.

The voice on the other end was cold, dripping with professional impatience.

"You’re five hundred dollars short on this month's payments. If you don't clear the balance by the end of the week, we’ll have to suspend your mother’s dialysis."

My mom lay sleeping beside me in our cramped apartment, her face pale and sunken.

I gently touched her cheek, my voice hushed as I whispered into the receiver, "I’ll get the money. I’ll find a way, I swear."

I rushed through my morning routine and headed to the coffee shop where I worked.

As I wiped down the wooden tables, my mind kept running the numbers over and over again.

Twelve thousand dollars. That was what the surgery cost.

On my meager hourly wage, even if I stopped eating entirely, it would take years to save that much.

The weight of that figure felt like a mountain crushing the breath out of my lungs.

I took a deep breath, forcing the tears back.

When you’re poor, you don’t have the luxury of crying. You just don’t have the time.

Just then, Sylvia, the boss's wife, walked in, her stilettos clicking sharply against the tile.

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the cafe like radar, looking for any flaw.

From my very first day, she had hated me. She always found a reason to pick at me, to make my life difficult.

I hoped I could fly under the radar today, but my heart sank as she marched straight toward me, holding up a custom ceramic mug.

"Who told you to touch my husband's mug?"

I squeezed the wet rag under the running water, keeping my voice as polite and small as possible. "There were coffee stains on it. I just wanted to clean it for him."

She grabbed another stained mug from the counter and slammed it onto the table.

"These are matching couple's mugs. You wash his and leave mine dirty? You think I'm stupid? You did this on purpose."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," I replied, biting my lip.

"Oh, so you're just ignoring me now? Trying to push my buttons?"

Without warning, she grabbed a freshly made hot chai latte off the pickup counter and flung it over me.

I instinctively held up my hands to shield my face. The hot liquid splashed over my knuckles, immediately searing my skin into angry, red blisters.

"Sylvia, please... I’m just trying to do my job."

She didn't listen. Hysterical, she slammed me against the wall.

"Look at yourself! You really think you have what it takes to seduce my husband?"

I shook my hands, trying to explain, but she kept spitting insults.

"No wonder your mother is terminal. She’s probably dying of shame from raising a pathetic, fatherless mistake like you!"

Rage surged straight to my brain.

"You can say whatever you want about me," I whispered, my voice trembling, "but do not talk about my mother."

Sylvia blinked in surprise, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Oh, you're talking back now? I’ll say whatever I want! I hope she dies sooner so she’s out of her misery. Think of this drink as an early wake for her!"

I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms.

But in the end, I let go.

I couldn’t afford to lose this job. I couldn't risk it.

Every dollar I made was keeping my mother alive.

I hung my head, utterly defeated.

As I slumped, the silver ring I wore on a chain slipped out from the collar of my uniform.

The metal was worn, but if you looked closely, you could see the faint engraving of an 'S'.

For Sullivan.

When Sylvia saw it, her face darkened instantly.

"You’re wearing a ring with my husband’s initials? What lie are you going to spin now, you home-wrecking bitch?"

She kicked me hard in the chest.

I collapsed onto the sticky, sweet puddle on the floor.

As Sylvia bent down to rip the chain from my neck, the door opened.

My boss, Robert Sullivan, stepped in.

Taking in the mess and my bruised state, he yelled, "Sylvia, stop! What the hell do you think you're doing in my shop?"