Youve achieved nothing, he spat. He didnt realise that the new boss upstairs was my son, the child of my former husband.
Give me the shirt the white one! Cant you read a simple request?
Martins voice cut through the kitchens early hush like a razor.
He stood in the middle of the room, tightening the knot on his most expensive tie, staring at me as if I were a mindless servant.
Its the day the new chief executive is announced. I have to look a million pounds sharp.
Without a word I handed him a hanger with a perfectly pressed, pristine white shirt. He snatched it as though I were stealing his precious time. Martin was on the edge; in moments like this he turned into a lump of bile and passive aggression.
He unleashed his fury on me, the sole person in his world he believed would never fight back.
This newcomer what a flash. A boy and already a chief. They say his surname is Vornick.
My fingers froze on the handle of the coffee pot, just for a heartbeat. Vornick. The name of my first husband. The name of my son.
Youll never understand, Martin snarled, staring at his reflection in the mirrored cupboard doors. Youre just a housewife, nestled in your cosy little swamp. Youve never wanted anything.
He adjusted his tie, a smug curl of his lips. That grimace was aimed not at me but at the successful man in the mirror he had spent years polishing.
And then a different morning flashed through my mind, years ago.
I, swollen with tears, cradling little James in my arms, and my first husband David, muttering helplessly that he had nothing to offer and could not provide for us.
In that damp, rented studio with a leaky tap, I swore: my son would have everything.
I worked two jobs, sometimes three. First when James was in nursery, then at school. I fell asleep over his schoolbooks, later over university notes. I sold the only thing I ownedmy mothers flatso he could take the same internship in Silicon Valley.
He was my flagship project, my most precious startup.
They say hes the son of some poor engineer, Martin continued, savoring the detail like a gourmand. Imagine thatrising from the mud to a prince. Those are usually the most ruthless.
He recalled a corporate party where, drunk, he publicly humiliated my exhusband.
David had arrived at the firm with a proposal. Martin called him a dreamer with empty pockets and laughed loudly.
He loved those moments. They fed his swollen ego.
Hand me the shoe brush. And the cream. Quickly. I fetched everything he demanded. My hands didnt shake. Inside, a perfect silence reigned.
Martin didnt know that his new boss was not just any Vornick. He didnt suspect that this boy was a cofounder of the IT firm their holding had just bought for a fortune, appointing him chief executive of an entire division. He also didnt realise that this flash remembered the woman who had made his mother weep into her pillow.
He left, slamming the door as was his habit.
I stood alone, walked to the window and watched his car pull away.
That day Martin walked into the most important meeting of his life, oblivious that it was his own scaffold.
That evening the door burst open as if kicked by a boot. Martin stormed into the hallway, his face flushed, his tie dangling like a loose knot he had just shed.
I hate this! he hissed, flinging his briefcase into a corner. Do you realise this brat thinks he can do whatever he wants?!
I slipped out of the kitchen, watching him silently. He prowled the corridor like a tiger in a cage.
He talked to me as if I were a freshman on placement! With me! With the head of a key department! He tore my quarterly report apart, point by point, every figure! Asked if Id bought a diploma on the street!
In his words I heard not humiliation but cold professionalism. It was my sonJames. He always drilled into details, never overlooking anything.
Do you know what he said last? Martin halted before me, panic flickering in his eyes. Mr. Martin, Im genuinely surprised you still hold that position with such numbers. I hope this is a minor misunderstanding and you wont disappoint me further. That was a threat! To me personally!
He expected sympathy, advice, support. I said nothing, simply staring at the broken, bitter man. For the first time I felt absolutely nothing.
Why are you silent? he exploded. Do you not care? Do you not mind that the man who feeds, clothes, and provides for you tramples you in the mud?
Then a brilliant idea, born of pure fear, sparked in his eyes.
I know what to do! Ill fix everything. Ill prove to Vornick Im not just a cog. Ill invite him to dinner. At our place.
I met his gaze.
Exactly! In an informal setting people lower their guard. Hell see my home, my status. And you He shot me a predatory look. Youll make sure my rear is solid, a model wife and perfect household. Thats your only chance to be useful.
He thought the plan clever, a way to use me as a pretty backdrop.
Then something clicked inside me. I saw the whole picture: the perfect storm he had brewed with his own hands. And I realised it was my chance.
Fine, I said calmly, and he didnt sense the trap. Ill arrange the dinner.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven, sharp as a signal.
Martin, who had been pacing the flat for half an hour, sprang to the hallway, a practiced smile freezing on his face.
I followed, preparing all his favourite dishes, creating the illusion of the perfect picture he so coveteda perfect trap.
The door opened. Standing on the threshold was James.
Tall, in an immaculate suit, he looked older than his twentysix years. His gaze was steady and confident. He extended his hand to Martin.
James Vornick. Thank you for the invitation.
Martin gripped the hand, his own shaking.
Martin Vornick! Delighted! Come in, make yourself at home!
James crossed the threshold and immediately locked eyes with me. He didnt smile; he simply staredlong, serious. In that look lay our entire shared history.
This is my wife, Emily, my rock, my hope, Martin introduced, trying to sound grand.
Were acquainted, James replied evenly, never breaking eye contact.
Martin froze. His smile trembled.
Acquainted? From where?
The entire evening Martin tried to reclaim control, narrating his successes, peppering the conversation with illtimed jokes. James listened politely but remained distant. The atmosphere at the table grew thick, sticky like tar. Martin downed glass after glass of wine, feeling his plan crumble.
Then he struck at the most painful pointme.
James Vornick, youre so young yet already at the top. Thats because you have the right bearings. As for my Emily shes had a rough go.
James carefully set his fork down.
Her first husband was lets say a dreamer, Martin sneered. An engineer with not a penny to his name. He lived on fantasies and couldnt feed a family. So Emily found happiness with me. Because she achieved nothing herself.
The same old line, the final drop, spoken in front of my son, the son of that very engineerdreamer.
Enough.
I lifted my head.
Youre right, Martin. I truly have achieved nothing. No career, no millions.
I paused, watching his expression shift.
My only project was one. The one I poured everything into. My son.
I turned to James.
I invested everything in himmy whole life, all my strength, all my beliefso he would grow up and never let men like you trample himself or his loved ones.
I looked back at Martin. His face stretched, animal fear flashing in his eyes as realization finally dawned.
Now meet, Martin. This is James Vornick, son of the same engineerdreamer, and my most successful project.
The rooms air could be cut with a knife. Martins smug grin melted away, as did his arrogance.
James rose.
Martin Vornick, he said, his voice calm, metallic in its steadiness, thank you for the dinner. It was instructive.
My father really was a dreamer. He dreamed of a world where professionalism outranked flattery. A shame there was no room for that in your department.
James Vornick I I didnt know Its a misunderstanding! Martin stammered.
The fact youre an incompetent manager is a fact. The fact youve demeaned my mother for years is also a fact. Ill submit my resignation tomorrow at nine. Dont force me to audit your projects. Youll find something there.
Martin sank into a chair, looking at me with a pleading expression.
I stood as well.
Leave, Martin.
My go sounded neither a shout nor hatredjust a period.
He croaked, trying to justify himself.
Emily you cant this house
The only thing you gave me was this house. And now its mine, I replied evenly. Pack your things. Everything that fits in one suitcase.
At last he understood. The game was over.
He turned and walked out. The click of the closing door was the period at the end of an overly long sentence.
I remained in the sitting room. James approached and took my hand.
Mom, how are you?
I looked at himmy greatest achievement.
Now, everythings in order.
Did I truly achieve nothing? Perhaps. I never became a CEO or amassed wealth. I simply raised a man. And that proved enough to reclaim my life.
Six months later, the first thing I did after he left was renovate. I ripped out heavy wallpaper, hauled out massive furniture that shouted status.
The house stopped being a showcase of someone elses success. It became mine.
I opened a small flower shop with a workshop. Id always loved plants, though Martin dismissed it as a hobby for simple folk. Turns out my hobby could bring both joy and incomemodest, but mine.
It was Saturday. James stopped by.
Dad called, he said. He sent his regards. Hes got a big grant for his waterpurification system and is heading to the tech hub at Cambridge. He said you were right: dreaming can be useful.
I smiled. Wed long forgiven each others old wounds.
And you know what I thought? James asked seriously. That Martin was right about something.
I raised an eyebrow.
You truly achieved nothing, in the sense he meant by achievements. But you did far more. You kept yourself, you raised me. That isnt a project, Mum. Its a life. And youve lived it well.
I watched my grown son, his eyes now free of childhood pain, filled only with steady strength.
What will you do now? he asked.
Ive signed up for language classes, I replied, surprised at how easy the sentence felt.
He nodded, a warm pride shining in his gaze, and I needed nothing else.
Did I achieve nothing? Perhaps. I simply started livingfor myself. And that is the greatest achievement of all.
