Claire was nervous about her first day at her new job, but getting stuck in the elevator with a stranger and accidentally breaking his nose in a panic made things worse. When they exited the elevator, she discovered that this man was her new boss. A boss known for his reputation as a ruthless tyrant.
Claire walked down a bustling street, her stomach a knot with excitement. Today was her first day at a new job, a job she had long dreamed of. She was starting as a graphic designer at a large company, and it was very exciting for Claire.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She knew she had to make a good impression on the first day and worried about whether she could pull it off.
Claire was naturally very clumsy, so she rarely managed to made a good first impression, but today she was determined to succeed.
Another reason she needed to show her best side was that she had heard rumors that her new boss was very strict and demanding, not tolerating mistakes.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves as she approached the towering office building. It loomed above her, glass reflecting the morning sunlight. With a final deep breath, she mustered up her courage and went inside.
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The lobby was grand, with sleek modern decor and people hurrying about. Claire felt a bit overwhelmed but kept moving, reminding herself to stay focused. She walked to the elevator, where an attractive man in a suit was already standing.
He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen him before. His sharp suit and confident stance made him look important. Claire pressed the button to call the elevator.
“I already pressed the button; there was no need to press it again,” the man said coldly.
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“Oh, you mean the elevator. I didn’t even think… It’s my first day,” Claire mumbled, stumbling over her words. The man gave her a stern look. “I’m very anxious,” she added.
The elevator doors opened, and the man stepped inside. Claire followed him in. The man pressed the button for the 11th floor and looked at Claire, expecting her to press her floor button.
“Me too, 11,” she said. Claire had checked all the information she had been sent dozens of times that morning. “So, it looks like we’ll be colleagues,” she said.
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“Yeah,” the man replied.
“I heard the boss is very strict and doesn’t forgive mistakes,” Claire said with a nervous laugh.
“I don’t see anything wrong with that. If you want a successful company, you need to minimize mistakes and the people who make them,” he replied.
“Maybe,” she said, thinking they definitely wouldn’t be friends. “I’m Claire, by the way,” she extended her hand for a shake.
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“Yes, I—” but the man was cut off as the elevator suddenly stopped.
“What’s happening?” Claire asked in a panic.
“It seems there’s a malfunction; it should start again soon,” the man replied calmly. Just after he said this, the lights in the elevator went out.
“Oh god, no, no, no. Not this! We’re stuck!” Claire began to panic.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Calm down; it should start working again soon.”
Claire started to hyperventilate, pacing back and forth in the elevator.
“What’s happening to you?” the man asked.
“I’m really afraid of confined spaces,” Claire answered.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“You were just fine a moment ago.”
“ʼBut the elevator ride only takes a few seconds; I can handle that. Now it’s unclear how long we’ll be stuck here.” Claire couldn’t calm down; she was already on edge, and now this. She collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not ready to die so young!” she cried out.
The man crouched next to her and put his hand on her back. “Calm down; no one is going to die. It’s just an elevator, and you’re not alone,” he said, gently rubbing her back.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Miraculously, this started to help, and Claire slowly began to calm down. Suddenly, the elevator jolted, scaring her, and she accidentally elbowed something.
“We’re falling!” Claire screamed. Suddenly, the lights came back on, and the elevator began to move. Claire turned around and saw she had bloodied the man’s nose.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to,” she said, standing up from the floor.
The man remained silent, pressing a handkerchief to his nose. The elevator doors opened, and the man immediately stepped out. Claire followed him.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Mr. Hemforth! What happened?” a woman cried out. Claire felt her blood run cold. Mr. Hemforth—that was the name of her new boss. Claire had just punched her boss!
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath.
Several days had passed since the elevator incident, and all this time, Claire increasingly felt that Mr. Hemforth hated her.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen him somewhere before. His constant disapproval only added to her anxiety.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
He hadn’t approved any of her work or ideas, no matter how hard she tried. Claire arrived at work at 7 a.m. and left at 10 p.m., just to finally create something Hemforth would like, but it was all in vain. Her efforts seemed pointless. It seemed he was deliberately rejecting her work.
When other colleagues praised something and said how great Claire was, Hemforth would look at her work and say he’d never seen anything worse in his life. It was like a punch to the gut every time. Claire’s confidence was dwindling.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
One day, Claire decided to try again. She walked to his office, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath, mustering the little courage she had left, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Hemforth’s voice called from inside.
Claire entered, holding her latest design in her hands. “Mr. Hemforth, I’ve made some changes. I hope this meets your expectations,” she said, handing him her work.
“Are you kidding me?” Hemforth said, frowning. “Why are you showing me a draft?”
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“This is the final version,” Claire replied, her voice shaky.
“You shouldn’t have said that. Redo it,” Hemforth replied, his tone stern.
Claire couldn’t take it anymore. “Why do you hate me so much? I’ve apologized several times for hitting you, and it was an accident. Everyone else praises my work. Why haven’t you said anything good?”
“I don’t hate you. I want to teach you,” Hemforth answered calmly.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Then you should take teaching courses,” Claire snapped, her frustration boiling over. She turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her.
That evening, the office was empty and dimly lit. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights was the only sound accompanying Claire as she sat at her desk, tirelessly working on the same project over and over again.
Her eyes were strained from staring at the screen for hours, and she rubbed them, trying to focus. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, reminding her that it was already half past ten at night.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Suddenly, Claire heard the familiar sound of the elevator dinging. She glanced up, squinting to see who it could be at this late hour.
The dim lighting made it hard to make out the figure at first. Her heart skipped a beat when the figure stepped out of the shadows, and she realized it was Hemforth.
“Damn it!” Hemforth shouted, his voice echoing in the empty office. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” Claire said, her voice small and apologetic.
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Hemforth took a deep breath and approached her desk. “What are you doing here so late?” he asked, his tone softer now.
“I’m working,” Claire replied, trying to muster a smile. “And you?”
“I forgot my phone,” Hemforth said, shaking his head. “Came back to get it.”
“I see,” Claire said, feeling a bit awkward.
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Hemforth leaned over to look at her laptop screen. “Why are you doing it this way?” he asked, a frown creasing his forehead.
Claire blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you trying so hard to fit into our mold?” Hemforth asked, looking at her intently.
“I thought that’s what I was supposed to do,” Claire said, her voice uncertain.
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Hemforth shook his head. “I hired you because your work stood out. I thought you could bring something new to our company.”
Claire was taken aback. “I… I didn’t know that,” she admitted. She really thought he wanted her to follow the same guidelines as everyone else.
Hemforth sighed and took the mouse from her hand, deleting everything she had been working on. Claire gasped, feeling a pang of panic. “What are you doing? I spent the whole day on that!” she protested.
“I know,” Hemforth said, looking at her with a calm expression. “I’m sorry, but I want you to create something new. Something that’s truly yours, not just what you think we want.”
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Claire felt her frustration rising. “Well, I guess I’ll be spending the night here,” she said, determined to prove herself.
“No need,” Hemforth said, shaking his head. “Start fresh tomorrow.”
“No,” Claire insisted. “I want to come in with results. You’ll probably fire me anyway.”
Hemforth looked surprised. “Why would I fire you?” he asked.
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“Because I haven’t had a single approved project,” Claire said, feeling the weight of her frustration and exhaustion.
“That’s normal,” Hemforth reassured her. “You’re still learning. You’re the most talented person in this office, maybe even better than me. Just stop limiting yourself.”
Claire stared at him in disbelief. She had never expected to hear such praise from Hemforth. “Really?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” Hemforth said firmly. “We haven’t had such a young and talented employee in a long time. The last one was five years ago.”
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Claire looked at him, puzzled. “You’re not much older than me,” she said.
“I’m talking about myself,” Hemforth explained. “I joined the company only five years ago, and look where I am now. And you’re better than me. If you want, I can help you.”
Claire felt a surge of gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Hemforth,” she said. “But I’d rather do it myself.”
Hemforth smiled. “Just call me Derek,” he said. “Work hours ended long ago. I’ll be in my office if you need help.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
As Hemforth walked away, Claire felt a newfound determination. She took a deep breath and turned back to her laptop, ready to create something truly her own.
The next few hours, Claire spent working on a new project. She kept Hemforth’s words in mind and let herself be free, not worrying about fitting in. She tried new ideas and different styles, feeling more confident with each stroke.
Finally, Claire sat back and looked at the finished work. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was the best thing she had created since starting at the company. A smile spread across her face.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Claire grabbed her laptop and walked to Hemforth’s office. She knocked gently on the door, her heart pounding. When Hemforth looked up, she stepped inside and placed the laptop on his desk, turning it so he could see the screen.
“Take a look,” Claire said, her voice a bit shaky but hopeful.
“See, that’s what I was talking about. Good job,” Hemforth said, his face lighting up with a smile.
“Really?” Claire asked, her eyes wide with surprise. She still couldn’t believe it.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Yes,” Hemforth said, standing up from his desk. “You can actually do much more than you imagine.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, feeling a mix of relief and pride.
She returned to her desk and started packing her things. Claire walked to the elevator, where Hemforth was already standing, waiting.
“I’m getting flashbacks from our first meeting,” Claire said with a small laugh.
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“That wasn’t our first meeting,” Hemforth replied, his expression softening.
“What do you mean?” Claire asked, puzzled.
“Do you remember the graduation party where you cried in the bathroom because your lenses were expired and your eyes were burning?” Hemforth asked, looking at her closely.
“I wasn’t crying; my eyes were just watering. How do you know that?” Claire asked, her mind racing to remember.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“I was the one who brought you tissues and lens solution,” Hemforth said, a smile playing on his lips.
“That was you?” Claire said, her eyes widening in recognition. “I thought that was some kind graduate…”
“Yeah, that was me,” Hemforth replied. The elevator doors closed, and they both stepped inside.
“I’ve been looking for you since that day but couldn’t find you. Then I saw your resume for this job,” Hemforth continued, his voice calm but sincere.
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“You were looking for me?” Claire asked, her heart skipping a beat.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Hemforth admitted.
“Oh,” Claire said, feeling a rush of emotions.
“Sorry, I got carried away,” Hemforth said, looking a bit embarrassed.
“I was going to drop out the next day because I thought I wasn’t good enough,” Claire confessed. “But I stayed because of your words.”
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“What’s important is not whether you’re worthy of being here, but whether you’re ready to fight for your choice,” they said in unison, both surprised at their shared memory.
“You remember,” Claire said, smiling brightly.
“Of course,” Hemforth said. “I remember every part of that conversation.”
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Their eyes met, and without thinking, Hemforth leaned in to kiss Claire. She responded, wrapping her arms around his neck. Hemforth pressed a button, and the elevator stopped.
“It’s okay. I’m here,” he said softly, then kissed Claire again.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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My 16-Year-Old Son Went to Stay with His Grandmother for the Summer – One Day, I Got a Call from Her
When my 16-year-old son offered to spend the summer taking care of his disabled grandmother, I thought he’d finally turned a corner. But one night, a terrifying call from my mother shattered that hope.
“Please, come save me from him!” my mother’s voice whispered through the phone, barely a breath.
A scared elderly woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
Her words were sharp with fear, a tone I’d never heard from her. My stomach knotted. Before I could respond, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, disbelief mixing with shock. My strong, fiercely independent mother was scared. And I knew exactly who “him” was.
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
My son had always been a handful, but lately, he’d crossed new lines. At sixteen, he was testing every boundary he could find. Rebellious, headstrong, a walking storm of attitude and defiance.
I remembered him coming home from school, slinging his backpack down with a certain grin that I didn’t recognize. “I was thinking about going to Grandma’s this summer,” he’d said. “I mean, you’re always saying she could use more company. I could keep an eye on her.”
A smiling teenager | Source: Pexels
My first reaction was surprise and a little pride. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf, becoming responsible. But looking back now, as I sped down the darkening highway, his words nagged at me in a way they hadn’t before.
I blinked in surprise. “You… want to go stay with Grandma? You usually can’t wait to get out of there.”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“I’ll help take care of her,” he said. “You could even let the caregiver go, Mom. Save some money, you know?”
The more I drove, the more pieces of our recent conversations slipped into place in my mind, forming a picture I didn’t like.
“People change,” he’d shrugged with a strange smile. Then he looked up at me with a half-smile. “I mean, I’m almost a man now, right?”
A smiling teenage boy with a phone | Source: Pexels
I brushed it off then, thinking maybe he was finally growing up. But now, that smile felt… off. Not warm or genuine, but like he was playing a part.
As I drove, I remembered other details, things I’d dismissed at the time. A week into his stay, I called, wanting to check on my mother directly. He’d answer, cheerful but too fast, like he was steering the call. “Hey, Mom! Grandma’s asleep. She said she’s too tired to talk tonight, but I’ll tell her you called.”
A concerned woman on her phone | Source: Freepik
Why didn’t I push harder?
My mind raced back to how it all began. It had been just the two of us since his father left when he was two. I’d tried to give him what he needed to stay grounded. But since he hit his teenage years, the small cracks had started widening.
An angry teenage boy | Source: Freepik
The only person who seemed to get through to him now and then was my mother. She had a way of disarming him, though even she admitted he was “testing her patience.”
I dialed my mother’s number again, willing her to pick up. My thumb tapped the screen anxiously, but still, nothing.
The sky darkened as the houses became sparse, her rural neighborhood just up ahead. With every mile, my mind replayed his too-smooth excuses, his charming act.
A woman on her phone in her car | Source: Freepik
As I pulled up to my mother’s house, a chill ran through me. I could hear music blasting from two blocks away. Her lawn, once so tidy, was now overgrown, weeds tangling around the porch steps. The shutters had peeling paint, and the lights were off, as though no one had been home in weeks.
I stepped out of the car, feeling disbelief twisting into a sick anger. Beer bottles and crushed soda cans littered the porch. I could even smell cigarette smoke drifting out through the open window.
A littered porch | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I reached for the door, pushing it open.
And there, right in front of me, was chaos.
Strangers filled the living room laughing, drinking, shouting over the music. Half of them looked old enough to be college kids, others barely looked out of high school. My heart twisted, a mixture of fury and heartache flooding through me.
A furious woman | Source: Pexels
“Where is he?” I whispered, scanning the crowd, disbelief giving way to a focused rage. I shouldered through people, calling his name. “Excuse me! Move!”
A girl sprawled on the couch glanced up at me, blinking lazily. “Hey, lady, chill out. We’re just having fun,” she slurred, waving a bottle in my direction.
“Where’s my mother?” I snapped, barely able to hold back the edge in my voice.
A shouting woman | Source: Pexels
The girl just shrugged, unconcerned. “Dunno. Haven’t seen any old lady here.”
Ignoring her, I continued through the packed room, shouting my son’s name over the blaring music. I looked from face to face, my heart pounding faster with every step. Every second that passed made the house feel more like a stranger’s, more like a place my mother would never allow, let alone live in.
Teenagers partying | Source: Pexels
“Mom!” I called, my voice desperate as I reached the end of the hall, near her bedroom door. It was closed, the handle faintly scratched, as though it’d been opened and closed a hundred times in the last hour alone.
I knocked hard, heart racing. “Mom? Are you in there? It’s me!”
A weak, trembling voice replied, barely audible over the noise. “I’m here. Please—just get me out.”
A woman knocking frantically into the closed door | Source: Midjourney
I felt a wave of relief and horror as I fumbled with the handle and threw the door open. There she was, sitting on the bed, her face pale and drawn, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Her hair was mussed, and I could see dark circles under her eyes.
“Oh, Mom…” I crossed the room in a heartbeat, falling to my knees beside her and wrapping my arms around her.
An elderly woman covering her ears | Source: Freepik
Her hand, frail but steady, clutched mine. “He started with just a few friends,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But when I told him to stop, he got angry. He… he said I was just getting in the way.” Her voice wavered. “He started locking me in here. Said I was… ruining his fun.”
A sickening wave of anger surged through me. I’d been blind, foolish enough to believe my son’s promise to “help out.” I took a shaky breath, stroking her hand. “I’m going to fix this, Mom. I swear.”
An elderly woman in her bedroom | Source: Freepik
She nodded, gripping my hand, her own fingers cold and trembling. “You have to.”
I walked back to the living room, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. And there was my son, leaning against the wall, laughing with a group of older kids.
When he looked up and saw me, his face went pale.
“Mom? What… what are you doing here?”
A shocked teenage boy | Source: Freepik
“What am I doing here?” I echoed, my voice steady with a calm I didn’t feel. “What are you doing here? Look around! Look at what you’ve done to your grandmother’s home!”
He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I saw his mask slipping. “It’s just a party. You don’t have to freak out.”
“Get everyone out of here. Now.” My voice was steel, and this time, it cut through the noise. The whole room seemed to freeze. “I’m calling the police if this house isn’t empty in the next two minutes.”
A furious woman | Source: Freepik
One by one, the partiers shuffled out, murmuring and stumbling toward the door. The house cleared out, leaving only broken furniture, empty bottles, and my son, who now stood alone in the wreckage he’d made.
When the last guest was gone, I turned to him. “I trusted you. Your grandmother trusted you. And this is how you repay her? This is what you thought ‘helping’ looked like?”
A woman confronting her son | Source: Midjourney
He shrugged, a defensive sneer twisting his face. “She didn’t need the space. You’re always on my case, Mom. I just wanted some freedom!”
“Freedom?” My voice shook with disbelief. “You’re going to learn what responsibility is.” I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of each word. “You’re going to a summer camp with strict rules, and I’m selling your electronics, everything valuable, to pay for the damage. You don’t get a single ‘freedom’ until you earn it.”
An angry woman in her living room | Source: Midjourney
“What?” His bravado faltered, fear flickering in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” I said, voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “And if you don’t change, you’re out of the house when you turn eighteen. I’m done with excuses.”
The next day, I sent him off to camp. His protests, his anger all faded as the summer passed, and for the first time, he was forced to face the consequences.
A teenage boy in a camp | Source: Pexels
As I repaired my mother’s house that summer, I felt the pieces of our family begin to mend. Bit by bit, room by room, I cleared the broken glass, patched up the walls, and held on to hope that my son would come home a different person.
After that summer, I saw my son start to change. He grew quieter, steadier, spending evenings studying instead of disappearing with friends.
A boy doing his homework | Source: Pexels
Small acts like helping around the house, and apologizing without being prompted became routine. Each day, he seemed more aware, and more respectful, like he was finally becoming the man I’d hoped for.
Two years later, I watched him walk up my mother’s steps again, head bowed. He was about to graduate school with honors and enroll in a nice college. In his hand was a bouquet, his gaze sincere and soft in a way I’d never seen.
A young man with flowers | Source: Freepik
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” he said, his voice thick with regret. I held my breath, watching as the boy I’d fought to raise offered her a piece of his heart.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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