Elizabeth Whitmore sat on the bus, gazing out at the familiar streets of Manchester. Every morning, the same commute to work, the same stops, the same faces of fellow passengers. But today was different. Today, she was making this journey for the last time.
In her handbag lay her resignation letter. The wording was standard, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet behind those words lay a story so unbelievable, Elizabeth still struggled to accept it.
The bus stopped near the shopping centre where her son’s office was located—the very office where she had worked as an accountant for four years. The same office Daniel had founded fresh out of university with her unwavering support.
“Mum, are you sure about this?” Daniel had asked the night before when she handed him the letter. “Maybe you should think it over?”
“I’m sure, love,” she had replied. “This is for the best.”
But now, climbing the stairs to the office, Elizabeth felt her heart tighten. Four years of hard work, four years of pride in her son’s success—all left behind.
It had all begun the day Daniel brought Sophie home. A bright, lovely girl with a degree in finance. Elizabeth had liked her immediately, thrilled that her son had found someone so admirable.
“Mum, this is Sophie,” Daniel had said, beaming. “My fiancée.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Whitmore,” Sophie had said, smiling warmly. “Daniel’s told me so much about you.”
They married a year later. The wedding was modest but heartfelt. Elizabeth had prepared the food, decorated the venue, busied herself like a worker bee, wanting to make the day perfect for them.
After the wedding, Sophie moved into their small two-bed flat. Elizabeth had always dreamed of a full house, of children’s laughter filling the rooms.
“Mum, what if Sophie joined the business?” Daniel had suggested one evening over dinner. “She studied finance—she could help us grow.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth had agreed. “The more bright minds, the better.”
Sophie started as a sales manager. Driven and ambitious, she quickly made an impact, bringing in new clients and boosting profits. The company thrived.
“Mrs. Whitmore, could I have a word?” Sophie had asked one day, stepping into the accounting office.
“Of course, dear. What is it?”
“I’ve been thinking—maybe we should modernise our accounting? Switch to better software, automate some processes.”
Elizabeth had nodded. She knew the old ways were becoming outdated.
“You’re right, Sophie. But at my age, learning new programs isn’t easy. My memory isn’t what it was.”
“Don’t worry,” Sophie had assured her. “I’ll help. We’ll figure it out together.”
And she had. Patiently explaining, guiding, repeating when needed. Elizabeth tried her best, but the digital world resisted her efforts.
Daniel had encouraged her too, praising her efforts. Meanwhile, the company grew—new staff, bigger offices, more paperwork than ever.
“Mum, how are you managing?” Daniel had asked. “Isn’t it too much?”
“I’m coping, love. Though I won’t lie—it’s not easy.”
Elizabeth was exhausted. Once, she had handled all the accounts effortlessly, but now the workload had tripled. Late nights, taking work home—it was wearing her down.
“Maybe we should hire another accountant?” Daniel had suggested.
“Why waste money?” Sophie had countered. “Mrs. Whitmore is experienced—she’ll adjust. She just needs time.”
Yet Sophie’s criticisms grew more frequent. Reports were late, calculations wrong, paperwork not up to standard.
“You must be more careful,” Sophie would say. “Our reputation depends on accuracy.”
“I’ll try harder,” Elizabeth would reply.
And she did, double-checking every entry, working late into the night. But mistakes still slipped through. Age was undoing her.
“Daniel, we need to talk,” Sophie had said one evening, unaware Elizabeth was listening.
“About what?”
“Your mother. She can’t keep up. The errors, the delays—it’s hurting the business.”
“Sophie, don exaggerate. Mum works hard.”
“Hard but inefficient. Daniel, this is business. We can’t afford sentiment, even for family.”
Elizabeth had stood frozen, hearing those words. An inefficient employee. That’s what Sophie, the girl she’d welcomed as a daughter, now called her.
The next day, Daniel had asked, “Mum, how’s work?”
“Fine, love. Why?”
“Just checking. If you’re struggling, tell me. We’ll help.”
Elizabeth had nodded, but she didn’t ask. She knew Sophie was right—the work had outgrown her.
Then came the tax fines. Sophie made sure everyone knew whose fault they were.
“Mrs. Whitmore, another penalty,” she’d announced one morning. “Incorrect tax calculations again.”
“But I checked multiple times—”
“Not carefully enough. This is the third fine this month.”
Daniel’s frown deepened with every mistake. Sophie’s frustration grew more open.
“We’re losing money, Daniel,” she’d insist. “Penalties, unhappy clients—this can’t go on.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Hire a professional accountant. Someone young, sharp, up-to-date.”
“And Mum?”
“Mum can relax. At her age, she’s earned it.”
Sitting in her office, Elizabeth had realised: she’d become a burden. Once indispensable, now only in the way.
“Got a minute, Mum?” Daniel had appeared in her doorway, guilt written on his face.
“Of course, love.”
He’d sat across from her in silence, hesitating.
“Mum, things are… complicated. The company’s growing, expectations are higher. Maybe you should… take a break?”
Elizabeth had smiled sadly.
“You mean resign?”
“No, just… step back. You’ve earned a rest.”
“Daniel, be honest. Sophie thinks I’m not good enough.”
He’d looked down.
“It’s not just Sophie. Accounting requires precision. And you… well, you know…”
“I’m old and slow.”
“No! Just… times change. Even young people struggle to keep up.”
Elizabeth had stood by the window, watching life rush by below. Everyone had purpose, direction. And she?
“It’s alright, Daniel. I’ll resign.”
“Mum, please don’t think we’re pushing you out—”
“I understand, love. You’re doing what’s best for the business.”
“We’ll still support you financially.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Daniel had left, and Elizabeth had written her resignation. Four years—gone in a few words on paper.
That evening, Sophie had been unusually sweet.
“Mrs. Whitmore, I made your favourite roast,” she’d said, setting the table.
“Thank you, dear.”
“Daniel told me you’re leaving. Wise decision. Now you’ll have time for yourself, for hobbies.”
“I suppose so.”
“And maybe grandchildren soon? Daniel and I are planning to start a family.”
Elizabeth had looked up. Grandchildren—she’d dreamed of them. But this felt like another unpaid job offer.
“Of course, Sophie. I’d love to help.”
Daniel had been quiet through dinner, stealing guilty glances at his mother. Elizabeth understood—he’d made his choice. And it wasn’t her.
“Mum, why not visit Aunt Margaret?” he’d suggested. “You haven’t seen her in ages.”
“Good idea,” Sophie had chimed in. “A change of scenery would do you good.”
Aunt Margaret lived in the countryside, ten years older than Elizabeth, full of hard-earned wisdom.
“Maybe I will,” Elizabeth had agreed.
The next day, she briefed her replacement—a sharp woman in her twenties, eager and efficient. Just as Elizabeth had once been.
“Hello, I’m Rebecca,” the new accountant had said. “Daniel said you’d walk me through everything.”
“Of course. Let’s start with the ledgers.”
Elizabeth had explained patiently, watching Rebecca take notes with a confidence she herself no longer had.
“What’s in this folder?” Rebecca had asked, pointing to a thick stack of papers.
“Old records. I keep them just in case.”
“Right. Are they digitized?”
“Not all. We used to rely on paper.”
Rebecca had nodded—like she knew better.
By midday, everything was handed over. Elizabeth packed her things—a photo from the office party, a mug reading “Best Accountant,” a calendar Daniel had gifted her last Christmas.
“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Whitmore,” Rebecca had said. “Daniel told me you helped build this company.”
“Yes, I was there from the start.”
“That’s wonderful. You should be proud.”
Proud? Perhaps. The company had succeeded. At the cost of her place in it, but success nonetheless.
Daniel had walked her to the bus stop.
“Mum, please don’t be upset. I know this hurts.”
“I’m not upset with you. Just… sad about how things change.”
“But I can see it’s painful.”
“PainAs the bus pulled away, Elizabeth realized that sometimes letting go is the only way to make space for new beginnings.
