“You havent accomplished anything,” the man said. But he didnt know his new boss was my son from my first marriage.
“Shirt! The white one! Couldnt you figure that out?”
Rodneys voice sliced through the quiet of the kitchen like a blade. He stood in the middle of the room, tightening the knot on his most expensive tie, glaring at me as if I were some dim-witted maid.
“Todays the new CEOs introduction. I need to look a million pounds.”
I handed him the hanger with the perfectly pressed shirt without a word. He snatched it like I was stealing his precious time. Rodney was on edgethose moods turned him into a ball of bile and passive aggression. He took it out on me, the one person he was sure would never push back.
“This new guys some upstart. A kid, and already CEO. They say his last names Harrington.”
My fingers froze on the coffee pot handle. Just for a second. Harrington. My first husbands name. My sons name.
“You wouldnt understand,” Rodney muttered, admiring himself in the wardrobe mirror. “Youre just a housewife, sitting in your little comfort zone. You never aimed for anything.”
He adjusted his tie, smirking at his reflectionnot at me, but at the “successful” man hed spent years crafting.
I remembered another morning. Years ago. Me, swollen-eyed, holding little Oliver, while my first husband, James, mumbled helplessly about having nothing to provide for us. Thats when I decidedmy son would have everything.
I worked two, sometimes three jobs. First when Oliver was in nursery, then school. I fell asleep over his homework, then his uni notes. I sold my grandmothers flat to send him to that Silicon Valley internship.
He was my lifes work.
“They say hes some poor engineers son,” Rodney went on, relishing the gossip. “Dirt to riches. Those types are always ruthless.”
Hed once humiliated James at a work party, drunk, calling him a “dreamer with empty pockets.” He loved those momentsthey fed his ego.
“Shoe polish. And the brush. Quickly.”
I brought everything. My hands didnt shake. Inside, I was perfectly still.
Rodney didnt know his new boss wasnt just “some Harrington.” He had no idea this “kid” was co-founder of the tech firm their holding company had just bought for a fortune, making him CEO of the whole division. And he certainly didnt know this “upstart” remembered the man who made his mother cry into her pillow.
He left, slamming the door as usual.
I watched his car drive off. Today, Rodney was walking into the most important meeting of his life. Little did he know, it was his own undoing.
That evening, the door flew open like itd been kicked. Rodney stormed in, face red, his fancy tie loose like a noose hed just escaped.
“I hate him!” he hissed, hurling his briefcase into the corner. “Do you know what that little brat dared to say to me?”
I watched silently as he paced like a caged animal.
“He spoke to me like I was some intern! Me! A department head! He picked apart my quarterly report, every figure! Asked if Id bought my degree off some dodgy website!”
I didnt see humiliationI saw my sons professionalism. Oliver always dug deep.
“Know what he said last?” Rodney stopped dead, panic in his eyes. “‘Rodney, Im genuinely surprised someone with your numbers still holds this position. Dont disappoint me further.’ That was a threat!”
He wanted sympathy. I felt nothing.
“Why arent you saying anything?” he exploded. “Dont you care that the man who provides for you is being trampled?”
Then came his “brilliant” idea, born of pure fear.
“Ill fix this. Ill prove Im not just a cog. Ill invite Harrington to dinner. Here.” He eyed me. “Youll play the perfect wife. Show him Ive got a solid home life. This is your chance to be useful.”
He thought he was being clever. Using me as a prop.
Something clicked. I saw the whole picturethe perfect storm hed created.
“Fine,” I said calmly. “Ill arrange it.”
The doorbell rang at seven sharp. Rodney rushed to answer, plastering on a fake smile.
Id made all his favourite dishes. Set the perfect trap.
The door opened. There stood Oliver.
Tall, impeccable in his suit, he looked older than twenty-six. His gaze was steady. He shook Rodneys hand.
“Oliver Jameson. Thanks for having me.”
Rodney fawned. “Rodney! So pleased! Make yourself at home!”
Oliver stepped in, his eyes finding mine immediately. No smile. Just a long, quiet lookour whole history in it.
“This is my wife, Emily,” Rodney babbled. “My rock.”
“Weve met,” Oliver said evenly, never looking away.
Rodney froze. “Met? How?”
All evening, he tried to salvage control. Bragged, told awful jokes. Oliver listened politely, detached. The air was thick.
Then Rodney struckat me.
“Oliver, youre so young, yet at the top. Right priorities. Unlike Emily here she never achieved much.”
Oliver set his fork down.
“Her first husband was a dreamer,” Rodney sneered. “Some engineer with no money. Couldnt even feed his family. So Emily found happiness with me. Because she never made anything of herself.”
Those same words. The final straw. Said to my sonhis son.
Enough.
“Youre right, Rodney. I never achieved anything. No career, no millions.” I paused, watching his face change. “I had one project. Just one. My son.”
I turned to Oliver. “I gave him everything. So hed never let men like you trample himor the people he loves.”
I looked back at Rodney. His face went slack. It was dawning on him.
“Meet Oliver Jameson Harrington. Son of that ‘dreamer.’ And my greatest success.”
The room turned to ice. Rodneys smirk melted.
Oliver stood. “Rodney, thank you for dinner. It was enlightening. My father dreamed of a world where skill mattered more than bootlicking. Pity your department had no place for that.”
“Oliver, II didnt knowThis is a mistake!”
“Your incompetence is fact. How you treated my mother is fact. Resign by nine tomorrow. Or I audit your projects. Well find plenty.”
Rodney crumpled. He looked at me, pleading.
“Go, Rodney.”
No shouting. Just finality.
He wheezed excuses. “Emily, you cantThis house”
“The one thing you gave me? This house. Now its mine. Pack a suitcase.”
It hit him. Game over.
He left. The closing door sounded like a full stop.
I stood in the lounge. Oliver took my hand.
“Mum. You alright?”
I looked at himmy lifes work.
“Now I am.”
Had I achieved nothing? Maybe. I hadnt climbed ladders or made fortunes. Id just raised a man. And it was enough to take my life back.
Six months later
First thing I did? Renovated. Ripped off the stuffy wallpaper, tossed the showy furniture. The house wasnt a trophy anymoreit was mine.
I opened a little flower shop. Always loved gardening, but Rodney called it “common.” Turns out my “hobby” brings joyand a small income.
Todays Saturday. Olivers visiting.
“Dad called,” he says. “Sends his regards. Got a big grant for his water filtration system. Off to Cambridge. Said you were rightdreaming pays off.”
I smile. Weve long forgiven old wounds.
“Know what I realised, Mum?” Olivers serious. “Rodney was right about one thing.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You never achieved anythingby his standards. But you did something bigger. You stayed yourself. And raised me. Thats not a project, Mum. Thats a life. And you aced it.”
I look at my sonno pain in his eyes now, just quiet strength.
“Whats next for you?” he asks.
“Signed up for language classes,” I say, surprised how light it sounds.
He nods, his eyes so warm, so proud, I need nothing else.
Achieved nothing? Maybe. I just started living. For me. And thats everything.
