Alexandra reread the email one last time before clicking ‘send’. There, she could finally go for a cup of tea. She leaned back in her chair, stayed there for a moment, then closed her inbox, stood up, and left the office.
In the break room, Emily sat alone at the table, sniffling. Alexandra didn’t like prying into others’ turmoil. Probably another reprimand from the boss for errors in her reports. She switched on the kettle, grabbed her teacup from the shelf, spooned in a few scoops of instant coffee, and waited for the water to boil.
Emily hiccupped and turned sideways to the window.
“What’s wrong? Did Mr. Thompson dismiss your translation again? More mistakes?” Alexandra asked.
“You don’t care.”
“Just offering help.”
“I don’t need it.”
“And why’re you crying?”
Alexandra suddenly remembered seeing Emily sliding into that sleek Range Rover days ago, her smug eyes sweeping the office staff gathered at the entrance. Now the car was gone, the man vanished without a farewell, and here Emily was, grieving shattered dreams.
The kettle whistled. Alexandra poured the boiling water, sat across from Emily, and slid a pack of tissues toward her.
“Wipe your face. Don’t let the entire office hear your drama. And don’t delay the procedure.”
“What are you…” Emily raised her puffy, tear-stained face.
“You know how it goes. Promises of eternal love, gold mountains, then poof. Two lines on the stick. Classic tale,” Alexandra smirked.
“Or do you want to keep the baby? Think. You’ll work nights to avoid starving, hand over the child to daycare, and return to work. Sick days, no promotions, no major projects. You’ll quit, become a teacher, tutor to survive. Then marry some engineer, desperate for stability. His child, now two children—endless exhaustion. He’ll grow tired, cheat, leave like him. Convince himself it’s better to buy freedom with alimony. You’ll juggle two jobs for the rest of your life, feeding two… No, no, no!”
Emily snapped, “You don’t know anything!” and left, leaving crumpled tissues on the table.
Alexandra sipped her coffee. Another poor sap trapped in love’s weave. Maybe she was wrong, maybe this one would end differently. Perhaps the Range Rover man would return, marry her… A fool’s hope.
“Ms. Richardson, Mr. Thompson is looking for you,” peered in the receptionist, Lucy.
“ Coming.” Alexandra finished her drink, rinsed the cup, set it in the sink, and headed to her boss.
“So, quitting after all? Good for you. More opportunities. But stop back. Write the resignation. Accounting will pay you quickly. No need to work off. Best of luck…”
Colleagues gossiped about Alexandra’s ambition, envious of the high-paying translations she secured, her sharp tongue silencing arrogant executives. Whispers followed her—some wild, others mundane. How she’d once been jilted, lost faith in love, now chasing only career. A myth she alone knew wasn’t true.
Years ago, a quarrel between her parents had reshaped her world…
Lately, their bickering had grown daily. Her mother, always hunting for reasons, ending arguments by accusing her father of failure. Once, he’d tried business, lost it all to a deceitful partner. Settled as a math lecturer at a polytechnic, respected but underpaid. Her mother, insatiable for more, complained he wasn’t ambitious.
In retaliation, her mother took a second job, working late. That night, she returned home after midnight. Alexandra awoke to commotion—things falling in the hallway, sharp words.
“Quiet! You’ll wake the entire house. I know the time. Don’t say you’re late from work…” her father’s voice, strained.
Her mother’s mutterings.
“You’re drunk, don’t care about me, what about your daughter? She’s mature, understands everything.”
Too tired,” her mother slurred.
“Of course. Just like always. What about me? You’re working at that nice place, aren’t you?” Her father spat a curse.
“So what? Pay me first. You’re the one who’s useless.”
The slap echoed. Her mother’s drunken laughter followed, then shrill curses, demanding he leave.
“Toss him out! I’ll manage without you. Someone will care…”
Bare feet ached on the cold floor. Alexandra crept back to her room, buried under the duvet. That night she learned her mother had a lover.
The next morning, her father was gone. Her mother, pale, avoided eye contact.
“Where’s dad?” Alexandra asked.
“On a business trip…”
The pattern repeated. Alexandra watched from the window as her mother stepped out of a Range Rover, waiting until it vanished before slipping back under the covers.
That day, she asked, “Are you divorcing dad? You have someone else? I saw…”
“Grow up. Perhaps you’ll understand someday,” her mother replied, and Alexandra never did.
Her father was kind, non-drinking, swept her on sleds in winter, taught her to fly kites. How could another man be better? She declared she’d never understand her mother, insisting to live with her father.
She visited him at the polytechnic.
“Your mother is right. I’m a failure. Maybe he’s the man she needs. I’d take you in, but I live with Uncle Sergei—two children, I sleep in the kitchen. There’s no room. Bear with it.”
That decision shaped her life. Depend on no one. No man would hold her. Success, not love, would matter. Never would her daughter witness such bitterness.
She avoided her mother, focused on studies, worked part-time, and studied over time. Freelance translation paid better. The divorce came. Her mother went with the new man. Her father, now with a landlady in a shared flat, grew neat and reserved. They maintained a distance, though.
Men? Some interested in her skills, her apartment. She knew better.
An exhibition in London offered a chance. Now, she’d finally leave for London.
—
That evening, she visited her father.
“ Dad, I’m leaving for London. Your flat’s empty. Come back. Promise me if you need anything, you’ll ask.”
“Nothing, love. I’ll stay. I’ve made friends here. Call, though.”
“Of course. And, marry again?”
“Not anytime soon. I’ll come to your wedding, though.”
Eat? Maria made shepherd’s pie!”
“Maria?” Alexandra smirked. “Don’t be shy. I’m happy for you.”
She hesitated before visiting her mother, who often lingered with bags, arguing with her latest man.
“Not again! You never work, freeloader! Enough!”
Alexandra turned away. The past scarred her, but the present was clearer. Her mother had chased a “strong shoulder,” found a worse one.
Without that quarrel, Alexandra might’ve married, had children. Instead, she’d built her own life—London, a career. The past was a lesson, not a cage.
Children absorb everything. Words, fights, decisions. Some become experts at repeating them, others revolt, sacrificing simple happiness. She’d chosen the latter.
Her parents, too consumed by their strife, never noticed their wounds. But Alexandra had heard every angry word, shaped her future in defiance. And it had worked.
