Youve achieved nothing, the man grumbled. He didnt realise that his new boss was my son from a previous marriage.
A shirt! A white one! Cant you see what I need? roared Rodney, his voice as sharp as a kitchen knife.
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, tugging fiercely at the knot of his most expensive tie, looking at me as if I were a brainless servant.
Today were meeting the new chief executive. I have to look the part.
Without a word I handed him a hanger with a crisp, freshlyironed white shirt. He snatched it as if Id stolen his precious time. Rodney was a bundle of nerves, his temper a cocktail of bile and passive aggression.
He let his anger loose on me, the only person in his world he believed would never bite back.
That new bloke is a real upstart. A lad, already a CEO. They say his surname is Vorn he trailed off, eyes widening.
My fingers froze on the coffee pot. Vorn. The surname of my first husband. The surname of my son.
Youll never get it, Rodney muttered, staring at his reflection in the mirrored cupboard doors. Youre just a housewife, stuck in your cosy little swamp. You never aimed for anything.
He smoothed his tie, a selfsatisfied smirk curling his lips. That grin was aimed not at me but at the successful man in the mirror hed been polishing for years.
And then I remembered another morning, long ago. Me, eyes swollen from tears, cradling little Archer in my arms, and my first husband Simon, muttering helplessly that he had nothing to offer and could never provide for us.
In that cramped, leaky rented flat I decided: my son would have it all.
I worked two, sometimes three jobs. First, when Archer was in nursery, then at school. I fell asleep over his schoolbooks, later over university notes. I sold the only thing I ownedmy mothers cottageto fund his internship in Silicon Roundabout.
He was my flagship project, my most precious startup.
They say hes the son of some poor engineer, Rodney continued, savoring the detail like a gourmand. Imagine that: mud to royalty. Those types are usually the coldest.
Rodney recalled the night at a corporate party when, halfdrunk, hed publicly humiliated my exhusband. Simon had come to the firm with a proposal. Rodneyd dubbed him the dreamer with empty pockets and laughed loudly.
He loved those moments; they fed his inflated ego.
Hand me the shoe brush and the cream. Quickly. he demanded.
I fetched everything he asked for. My hands didnt tremble; inside, there was a deep, unsettling calm.
Rodney had no idea that his new boss wasnt just any Vorn.
He didnt know that the lad was a cofounder of the tech firm their holding company had just bought for a fortune, making him the director of an entire division.
He also didnt realise that this upstart remembered the woman who used to make his mother weep into her pillow.
He stormed out, slamming the door in the usual theatrical fashion.
I was left alone, walked to the window and watched his car pull away.
Rodney thought he was headed to the most important meeting of his life. He had no clue he was walking straight to his own guillotine.
That evening the front door burst open as if kicked by a giant foot. Rodney stumbled into the hallway, face flushed, his tie dangling like a newly freed noose.
I hate this! he hissed, flinging his briefcase into a corner. Can you believe this pup thinks he can do what he wants?!
I slipped out of the kitchen, watching him pace like a tiger behind bars.
He talked to me like I was a fresh graduate on placement! With the head of a key department! He tore my quarterly report apart, point by point, every figure! Asked if Id bought a diploma in a market stall!
To me his words were less insult than cold professionalism. This was my son, Archer. He drilled into details, never letting anything slip.
Do you know what he said last? Rodney stopped abruptly, panic flickering in his eyes. MrRodney, Im genuinely surprised you still hold this post with such numbers. I hope this is a simple misunderstanding and you wont disappoint me further. It was a threat! Directed at me!
He expected sympathy, advice, support. I stayed silent, simply watching the broken, angry man, feeling nothingnot even a ripple.
Why are you silent? he exploded. Do you not care? Do you not mind that the man who feeds, dresses and supports you is trampling you in the mud?!
Then a brilliant idea, born of pure fear, lit up his eyes.
I know what to do! Ill fix everything. Ill show Vorn Im not just a cog. Ill invite him to dinner. At our place.
I met his gaze.
Yes, yes! In a casual setting people let their masks slip. Hell see my house, my status. And you he shot me a predatory look youll have to prove I have a solid back, a model wife and the 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. I saw the whole picture: the perfect storm hed brewed with his own hands, and I realised it was my chance.
Fine, I said calmly, and he didnt even notice the trap. Ill arrange the dinner.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven, clear as a signal.
Rodney, who had been roaming the flat for half an hour, bolted to the hall, a forced smile plastered on his face.
I followed, prepared all his favourite dishes, creating the illusion of the perfect picture he so coveteda perfect trap.
The door opened. Standing on the threshold was Archer.
Tall, in an immaculate suit, he looked older than his twentysix years. His gaze was steady and confident. He extended his hand to Rodney.
Archer Vorn, thank you for the invitation.
Rodney waved his hand, gripping Archers with a grip far stronger than his own.
Rodney Vorn! Delighted! Make yourself at home!
Archer stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding me. He gave no smile, just a long, serious look. In that look lay our entire shared history.
And this is my wife, Millie, Rodney announced. My rock, my hope.
Were acquainted, Archer replied evenly, never breaking eye contact.
Rodney froze. His smile faltered.
Acquainted? From where?
All evening he tried to regain control, bragging about his achievements, peppering the conversation with illtimed jokes.
Archer listened politely but kept his distance. The atmosphere at the table grew thick, sticky like tar. Rodney knocked back another glass of wine, feeling the plan crumble.
Then he aimed his jab at the most vulnerable spotme.
Archer Vorn, youre so young yet already at the top. Thats because you have the right bearings. As for my Millie shes had a rough go.
Archer carefully set down his fork.
Her first husband was lets say a dreamer, Rodney muttered. An engineer with not a penny in his pocket. He lived on fantasies and couldnt feed a family. So Millie found happiness with me, because she herself achieved nothing.
Those were the same old words, the final drop. He uttered them right in front of my son, the son of that very engineerdreamer.
Enough.
I lifted my head.
Youre right, Rodney. I truly have achieved nothing. No career, no millions.
I paused, watching his expression shift.
Ive only ever had one project. Oneandonly. My son.
I turned to Archer.
I poured everything into him. My whole life, all my strength, all my belief. So he could grow up and never let people like you trample himself or his loved ones.
I looked back at the man. His face stretched, a animalistic horror dawning in his eyes.
So meet him, Rodney. This is Archer Vorn, son of that same engineerdreamer. My most successful project.
The room felt as if you could cut it with a knife. Rodneys smug grin melted away.
Archer rose.
MrVorn, his voice was calm, yet carried steel, thank you for dinner. It was instructive.
My own father truly was a dreamer. He imagined a world where professionalism outranked flattery. Too bad theres no room for that in your department.
Archer, Rodney stammered, I didnt I wasnt aware Its a misunderstanding!
That youre incompetent, Archer said dryly, and that youve spent years belittling my mother. I expect my resignation letter on my desk tomorrow at nine. Dont force me to audit your projects. Youll find something.
Rodney slumped, looking at me with a pleading glance.
I stood as well.
Go, Rodney.
My go sounded neither like a scream nor a curse, just a period.
He croaked, trying to justify himself.
Millie you cant this house
The only thing you gave me was this house. And now its mine, I replied evenly. Pack up whatever fits in one suitcase.
At last he understood. The game was over.
He turned and left. The click of the closing door was the full stop at the end of a fartoolong sentence.
I was left in the living room. Archer came over and took my hand.
Mum, how are you?
I looked at him, at my greatest achievement.
Now Im fine.
Did I achieve nothing? Perhaps. I never became a CEO or a millionaire. I simply raised a man. And that turned out to be enough to get my life back.
Six months later, the first thing I did after his departure was a renovation. I ripped out heavy wallpaper, carted away bulky furniture that screamed status.
The house stopped being a showcase for somebody elses success and became my own.
I opened a small flower shop with a workshop. Id always loved plants, though Rodney dismissed it as a pastime for simple folk. Turns out my hobby could bring both joy and a modest income.
Its Saturday. Archer drops by.
Dad called, he says. He sent his regards. He just secured a huge grant for his waterpurification system ands heading to Silicon Roundabout. He said you were right: dreaming does help.
I smile. Weve long since forgiven each others old hurts.
Mum, you know what I thought? Archer says seriously. That Rodney was right about something.
I raise an eyebrow.
He thought youd achieved nothing, by his standards. But you did far more. You kept yourself, you raised me. Thats not a project, Mum. Thats life. And youve nailed it.
I watch my grown son, his eyes now free of childhood pain, only calm strength.
What will you do now? he asks.
Ive signed up for language classes, I answer, surprised at how easy the sentence sounds.
He nods, his gaze full of pride and warmth. I need nothing else.
Did I achieve nothing? Maybe. I simply started living for myself. And that, above all, is the biggest achievement.
