"Get out of my sight, you slut, and never show your face in front of me or my husband; do you understand?" her boss, or ex-boss now, it seems, shouted at her for the whole building to hear.
You see, she was just doing her job quietly as usual when her boss's wife, Teresa, suddenly snatched her hair and slapped her. She humiliated her in front of her peers, spoke harsh words, and called her names.
Who would've thought that she'd be mistaken for a mistress? To a family man who's twice her age at that?
Yes, she needed the money to treat her only sister, Rica, but she wouldn't go so low as to break a family.
"I never did what you're blaming me for. God knows that." She stood up from the ground and started picking up the things she had thrown away.
"'Do not even mention God, you filthy slut!" By now, passersby were staring at them, but Coreen didn't care at the moment.
When she's done, she faces the wife who overused Botox, and even Barbie will be ashamed of how much plastic she probably has in her body. No matter how desperate she is over her job, she will not go down her knees and beg someone who blames her while her cowardly excuse of a boss is just standing and watching like he's watching a movie.
She stood in her face with her head held high. "If you don't believe me, then I can't do anything about it. Let me just advise a fellow woman. You got the wrong person, and the person you're looking for, which is, by the way, who likes a fat man with little hair and stinky breath, is just around the corner." She motioned at the building and made an action of pointing at someone, which is Brenda, the real mistress of her ex-boyfriend.
"But you know what? I can't blame him. Your mouth can replace a shotgun. If I were you, I would fix a marriage that's already on the verge of collapsing." Coreen shrugged her shoulders and left the wife with her mouth agape.
Coreen smirked at Richard and waved her middle finger at him before walking away with her box. When she's far enough, though, her shoulders slump in defeat. She has no job now. And as if it's that easy to look for a job that quick. How is she going to pay for Rica's medical expenses?
Coreen's sister was only eight years old when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Her parents were killed in a fire inside their home while they were at the playground. She was the only one her sister had now. She swore to her parents' grave that she would never leave her sister until she died.
She remembers how her world collapsed when she learned of her sister's illness. She then spoke to God and asked him why she had not been given the disease instead. Her sister was too young to go through that kind of pain.
She sighed and stared at nothing in particular. She needs to find a job with the same salary or higher, hopefully. Her attention was aroused by the two women talking from where she was sitting. She turned to them before looking back at the road and staring at the passing cars.
"Maybe we can talk about it, Myla."
"I don't like it, ma'am. I can't even work for Sir anymore. I feel like I'm going to die of anger," she heard a woman say aloud while crying.
"I'll raise your pay, Myla. Three hundred dollars a day, is that okay? Please, don't quit."
She softly gasped at the amount she heard. Three hundred dollars a day? What kind of job is that? An artist? A model?
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I've made my decision. It's been two weeks of hell. Thank you for everything."
She saw the woman walk past her and stared at her retreating back before looking back at the older woman with her head hung low. The woman looks so stressed.
"She was the one who lasted the most. I don't know where else to look," she says mostly to herself, but Coreen heard it anyway.
Coreen bit her lips as she wondered if she would approach the woman. But she needed a job, and based on what she heard, she was willing to pay a lot! But what if it's illegal?
Ah, Whatever! She shouted to herself before standing up and approaching the defeated woman. She cannot cure her sister with cowardice.
"Uhm, excuse me?" she said, grabbing the lady's attention.