In an upscale London eatery, Emma recognised her former boss in the waitresss apron.
Lucy, are you free Saturday night? Emma asked over the phone. I want to introduce you to someone a business dinner at a nice spot.
Lucy adjusted her glasses, set aside the spreadsheets shed been poring over and replied, Introduce? I told you Im not looking for a boyfriend.
No, not that kind of introduction, Lucy laughed. Hes a business partner. He needs a sharp accountant for his new firm. Good salary, great conditions. I thought of you straight away.
Emma considered it. Her current job was decent, but the offer sounded tempting.
What restaurant? she asked.
The Regency on Oxford Street. Heard of it?
Emma whistled. The Regency was one of the citys most expensive and prestigious venues, where the average bill started at about £70 per person.
Sounds posh, she said. Alright, Ill be there. What time?
Seven oclock. Dress smart the crowd will be as polished as the place.
She hung up, walked to the mirror and saw a fiftytwoyearold woman looking her age: silvertinged hair, laugh lines around the eyes, a tired expression earned after thirty years of bookkeeping.
On Saturday evening Emma spent ages picking an outfit. She settled on a darkblue dress shed bought for her companys anniversary, a light touch of makeup and modest jewellery. A cab whisked her to the restaurant.
The Regency greeted her with the soft glow of crystal chandeliers and lowkey music. At the entrance a Swissdressed doorman opened the door with a courteous bow.
Welcome, he said, inclining his head slightly.
Inside, marble columns, velvet armchairs and gilded frames of artwork impressed even the most seasoned diners. Emma felt a flicker of selfconsciousness.
Do you have a reservation? asked a sternlooking hostess in a tailored suit.
Yes, under the name Parker, Emma replied.
One moment, please, the hostess scanned the list. Table seven by the window. Right this way.
They walked past other patrons neatly dressed, confident, clearly accustomed to such surroundings. Lucy was already seated with a middleaged gentleman.
Emma! Lucy sprang up. Finally! Meet Victor Graham.
Victor extended his hand. Victor Graham, and you must be Emma Parker, the accountant Ive heard so much about.
They exchanged pleasantries and sat down. Victor proved a pleasant conversationalist, chatting about his ventures, asking about Emmas experience, and making the talk flow effortlessly. Emma could already picture herself in the new role.
Lets order, then continue, Victor suggested, raising his hand for the waiter.
A woman in a black uniform approached the table. Emma lifted her eyes to the menu and froze.
Standing before her was Irene Whitfield, her former boss.
The same woman who, seven years earlier, had turned Emmas life into a courtroom drama, nitpicking every detail, demanding endless report revisions, and driving her to a nervous breakdown that forced her resignation and a halfyear sick leave.
Irenes face had paled; her hands trembled as she clutched the order pad.
Good evening, Irene whispered, voice barely steady. What would you like?
Lucy and Victor, absorbed in the menu, didnt notice the tension. Emma stared at her former tormentor, hardly believing her eyes.
Irene, who had always seemed older than her years, now looked exhausted, her onceimpressive suit replaced by a modest waitress uniform. The haughty confidence shed wielded was gone.
Emma Parker, have you decided? Victor asked.
Um, yes, Emma answered, snapping back. Ill have the Caesar salad and grilled salmon.
Irenes hand shook so much the ink smeared across the paper. Emma watched her struggle to keep a professional façade.
Anything else? Irene asked quietly, not meeting anyones gaze.
Thatll be all for now, Victor replied. Could we start with water and a glass of wine? He pointed at the wine list.
Irene nodded hurriedly and retreated. Emmas mind swirled with a mix of schadenfreude, pity and bewilderment.
You look a bit pale, Lucy observed. Everything alright?
Just a little tired, Emma said with a strained smile. Nothing to worry about.
The conversation continued, but Emma heard only the clink of cutlery and the hum of background chatter. Memories of her first day at the firm resurfaced. Irene had greeted her coldly, scanning her from head to toe.
Alright, newcomer, she had said then. No place for slackers here. Work hard, and I wont have to be harsh. Got it?
Emma had thought it was just strictness, but soon realized it was outright tyranny. A missing comma meant a rewrite; a fiveminute late report earned a reprimand; a tenminute traffic delay earned a public dressingdown in front of the whole department.
The worst part was Irenes gratuitous humiliation, often delivered with a smile: What a bunch of halfwits we have in this team, arent we?
Emma endured it because the paycheck was decent, but the stress took its toll: sleepless nights, headaches, a jittery blood pressure. Then came the day when a perfectly polished quarterly report was tripped up by a fivepound discrepancy a trivial error that Irene blew up over, shouting, Do you even know what youre doing? This is why the company loses money! Fix it now!
Something clicked inside Emma. She stood, looked Irene straight in the eye, and said calmly, Im resigning, effective immediately. Write me a termination letter; Im leaving today.
Irene was stunned. But
Im quitting, Emma repeated, firmer. You never said a kind word to me. I wont tolerate that any longer.
She packed her things, left that day, and later that week suffered a hypertensive crisis that landed her in hospital for stressinduced exhaustion. Doctors ordered complete rest.
For six months Emma could not work. She recovered, learned to enjoy life again, and eventually landed a job at a small, friendly firm where the boss valued his staff. Life steadied, and years passed. Emma eventually forgave Irenenot for Irenes sake, but to free herself from the burden of resentment.
Then fate threw them together again, only this time the power dynamics were reversed.
Irene, now in the waitresss uniform, approached Emmas table with a tray, spilling wine barely avoiding a slip.
Is everything alright? Victor asked kindly.
Sorry, Ill bring the drinks right away, Irene stammered, her hands still shaking.
Emma watched as Irene served, noting the tired, hollow look in her eyes. The former tyrant had become a humble server, her onceimposing suit replaced by a simple apron.
The dinner went on: salads, mains, dessert. Each time Irene returned, she avoided eye contact, clearly embarrassed.
Victor, between courses, explained the jobs terms. The salary was generous far above Emmas current earnings plus bonuses, paid leave, the whole package.
So, what do you think, Emma? he asked after the coffee arrived. Are you interested?
I need to think it over, Emma replied. Its a big decision.
Take a week, Victor said, handing her his card. Call when youve decided.
Lucy smiled, confident that Emma would say yes.
When the bill arrived, Emma noticed it topped just over ten thousand rubles roughly £150. They said goodbyes, and Lucy left in a cab while Victor headed to his car. Emma lingered, claiming she wanted a short walk.
She stepped out, wandered a bit, then slipped back in through a side door shed noticed earlier. A guard eyed her.
I left my scarf in the cloakroom, Emma fibbed. Can I get through?
Talk to the receptionist, the guard replied.
She moved past anyway, found a door marked Staff. Inside was a tiny break room for waitstaff.
There, on a stool, sat Irene, clutching a handkerchief and quietly sobbing.
Mrs. Whitfield? Emma called softly.
Startled, Irene wiped her tears, tried to stand.
Emma I Im sorry, she whispered. I didnt want you to see me like this. Its humiliating.
Sit down, Emma said, gently closing the door behind her. No need to get up.
Irene sank back, her eyes red, her shoulders slumped.
How did you end up here? Emma asked, taking a seat opposite her.
Irene paused, gathering her thoughts. After you left, I kept working. Then the company was investigated the director was running a fraud scheme, using my signature and stamps. I was oblivious, too busy being a bully.
She swallowed. The police got involved, the director fled abroad, and I was named an accomplice. I got a conditional sentence and a ban on any managerial role.
You didnt know? Emma asked.
I swear I didnt! Irenes eyes finally met Emmas. But who believed me? Everyone assumed I was guilty. My husband left, took the house and the car. I ended up with nothing.
Emma felt a strange mix of satisfaction and compassion.
Ive been looking for work, but a criminal record, even a conditional one, scares employers away. I spent months couchsurfing, then finally found this restaurant willing to take me as a waitress.
Irenes voice trembled, I deserve this. I was terrible to you and everyone else. Im ashamed.
Emma handed her a napkin. Why were you so harsh? she asked quietly.
I think I was compensating for my own insecurities, Irene admitted. At home my husband treated me like a servant. At work I took out my frustration on my staff, feeling powerful for once. It was stupid.
Stupid and cruel, Emma agreed. I get it now.
Someone today told me Im too old to be a waitress, that I should retire, Irene confessed. I smiled and nodded because I cant afford to argue.
Emma recalled her own desperate days, realizing the circle had closed.
So youre not here to get revenge? Irene asked, bewildered.
No, Emma said. Im here to talk.
I should hate you, Irene said, tears welling again.
I stopped hating years ago, Emma replied. Holding onto anger only rots you from the inside. I forgave you for my own peace.
Irene sniffed, Thank you.
Tell me, how much do you earn here? Emma asked.
About £20,000 a year plus tips, Irene answered. Its modest, but it covers a flat and food.
Emmas mind sparked. Would you like to return to accounting? A regular role, no senior responsibilities?
Id love that! Irenes face lit up. But no one would hire me.
Maybe I can help, Emma said, pulling Victors business card from her bag. Hes looking for a chief accountant. I could recommend you.
Irenes eyes widened. Youd do that after everything I did to you?
Yes, Emma said simply. Because Im not a vengeful person. I want people to change for the better, and I see youre trying.
Irene clasped Emmas hand. I dont know what to say. I dont deserve your kindness.
Everyone deserves a second chance if theyre sincere, Emma replied. Just one condition: if you ever slip back into bullying, Ill make sure youre out.
Deal! Irene exclaimed, earnest. I promise Ill change.
Emma stood, Ill call Victor tomorrow and sort it out. Ill let you know.
Thank you, Emma, Irene said, voice shaking with gratitude. Thank you for the forgiveness, for the help.
Emma smiled, Dont thank me yet. Youll have a lot of work ahead, and Ill be a strict but fair boss.
She left the staff room, feeling lighter than she had in years.
The next day she rang Victor.
Im interested in the position, but I have a condition, she said.
Go on, Victor replied.
I need an experienced accountant with a difficult background to join me. Someone whos been through a lot but wants a fresh start. If you take her, Ill start next week.
Victor paused. Youd take responsibility for this person?
Yes, Emma affirmed.
Alright then, Victor said. Lets bring her on board together.
Emma called the restaurant, requesting Irenes paperwork.
Gather your documents, Emma instructed. We start Monday.
A soft sob came through the line. Thank you, Emma. I wont let you down.
Monday arrived. Emma, Victor, and Irene walked into the new office together. Victor showed them the workstations, introduced the team. Irene settled quietly, focusing on the ledgers, never looking up from her numbers.
At lunch, they sat in a nearby café.
May I ask why you did all that? Irene ventured, fidgeting with a napkin.
Emma sipped her tea. I was angry for a long time. I let that anger eat me. Eventually I realised it didnt make me happier, it just kept me stuck. I let it go, forgave you, and moved on.
She continued, When I first saw you at the restaurant, I thought, Great, poetic justice! But then I saw your tears and heard your story, and realised you were already being punished enough by life itself. I didnt need to add to your suffering.
Irene listened, I understand now. Revenge wouldnt have helped anyone.
Emma nodded, Helping feels better.
Weeks passed. Irene proved reliable, arriving early, staying late, never complaining. A new graduate joined the department, making rookie mistakes. Irene patiently guided her, explaining procedures calmly, never raising her voice.
Emma later praised her, You handled that well today.
Irene smiled shyly, I remember how you were when you first came to me. I was cruel then, and Im ashamed of it. Now I try to be the opposite.
Their professional relationship blossomed into a friendly one. They shared lunch, discussed the weather, swapped stories.
One day Irene confessed, Im actually grateful for losing everything. It taught me to value people, be kinder. I used to be terrible, but now I hope Im better.
Emma replied, Youve improved, and Im glad I could help.
I saved my life, literally, Irene said, gripping Emmas hand. When I was at the restaurant, I thought I was finished. You reached out, and that changed everything.
Emma simply smiled.
Six months later Irene moved into a decent flat, bought new clothes, even looked younger. Yet the biggest change was inside she was now genuinely compassionate.
A tax inspector once visited for a routine check, stern and meticulous. Irene felt the familiar surge of irritation, but she kept her cool, answered politely, and offered every document requested.
When the inspector suggested there might be irregularities, Irene calmly replied, If you spot any errors, please point them out and well fix them.
The audit concluded without any penalties. The inspector left, and Irene exhaled, Did we pass?
With flying colours, Emma said, pride evident. You handled that beautifully.
I would have erupted before, Irene admitted, but Ive learned that harshness only breeds more harshness. Patience disarms even the toughest critics.
Emma nodded, satisfied with the experiments success.
That evening, walking home, Emma reflected on how oddly life twists. Seven years ago shed been a victim of a merciless boss, yearning for revenge. Now that same woman was a colleague, almost a friend, and Emma felt glad she chose forgiveness over vengeance. Revenge would never have made her happy; helping someone else did.
She recalled Irenes desperate face in the restaurant full of shame and fear and contrasted it with the calm, grateful expression she now wore.
Emma knew shed made the right choice, and she felt no regret.
