Being a woman has never been easy—especially in the 21st century. I’d just lost my job to downsizing, and two weeks ago, I also lost the person closest to me: my grandmother.
She was my role model—when people asked what I wanted to be, I’d say: “My grandma.” My parents were too absorbed in work to notice me, but she always made time—supporting my hobbies, helping with school, comforting me through tears. She believed in me, except when it came to Adam.
Adam and I had been together seven years, but Grandma warned me, “He dims your light.” After her death, Adam offered no comfort—just pressure to get a job. He was distant, always late, secretive. One day I even smelled another woman’s perfume on him. He talked admiringly about his new director, Sandra. I suspected something.
I found an opening as a janitor at Adam’s company—qualified and willing, thanks to Grandma’s teaching to respect honest work. On my first day, Adam confronted me, ashamed I “degraded” myself. I calmly continued cleaning.
Later, I stayed late to confirm my suspicion. I caught Adam and Sandra kissing. I confronted them; Adam said he no longer dated a janitor. I calmly told him to collect his things—lease was in my name—and left.
The next morning, Grandma’s lawyer called: I inherited everything, including this company. That afternoon, I walked in wearing a sharp suit. I revealed my new status to Sandra and Adam, fired both, then offered Adam the janitor position—teaching him a lesson in humility. I put Grandma’s photo on my desk, ready to lead with strength and grace—and never let anyone look down on me again.