“Mark?”
We all turned to see Jill standing there, and her face was anything but cheerful.
“Get out,” she said to Mark, her voice ice-cold.
“Jill, I can explain—”
“Everything in that house belongs to me. You can pack a bag and leave.”
“But I thought… we were…”
“You thought you were having an affair with my employee, who turns out to be my employee’s mother pretending to be her daughter.” Jill’s voice was steady, but I could see her hands shaking. “Pack your bag.
Now.”
The next morning, I typed up my resignation letter. Two paragraphs, professional and brief. I couldn’t face going back, couldn’t deal with the whispers and stares that would inevitably follow.
As I hit send, my phone lit up with another message from my mom — her 15th since last night.
I deleted it without reading it.
Some things you just can’t fix with an apology. Some betrayals cut too deep.
My mother had stolen my identity to catfish men on a dating app. Mark had fallen in love with a fiction.
And somewhere in between, real lives had shattered.
I closed my laptop and looked at my phone one last time before turning it off. 16 messages now. Each one probably full of explanations and excuses that wouldn’t change anything.
I’d only had this job for three months, but I’d managed to destroy my boss’s marriage before the probation period was even up.
Sometimes, the only thing you can do is walk away and try not to look back.
Source: amomama
