Chapter 1

Three months after I started my new job, I found out my coworkers were calling me "old hag" behind my back.

The nickname started with Johnny's secretary, the one who always had her nose in the air.

I was 32, still holding on to the remnants of an eight-year relationship, but that elusive marriage license was nowhere in sight.

I asked Johnny directly, "Do you know your secretary calls me 'old hag' behind my back?"

He didn't even look up from his desk. "Samantha says everything that comes into her head. She was joking. You're 32. Why let a young girl's words get to you?"

Then he looked at me and chuckled. "You know what? It actually suits you."

It felt like a shard of ice had pierced my chest. We had eight years of shared moments, but to him, it was just a form of entertainment.

I turned around, quit on the spot, and blocked him everywhere.

But Johnny, the always composed man, suddenly panicked.

"Stella, please come back," he begged.

*****

The first time I clearly heard someone call me "old hag" was at a staff meeting on Monday.

Samantha kept her gaze lowered, tears clinging to her lashes as I reprimanded her.

During recess, someone whispered, "Typical old hag. She always gives a hard time to pretty young girls."

I froze for a moment when I heard that.

That one comment set off a wave of whispers behind my back.

"She's always acting all high and mighty, picking on the pretty young girls," someone else said.

"Can you believe she's 32 and still clinging to this eight-year relationship? That's some serious desperation," another added.

I set my cup down, and suddenly, the room went dead silent.

Everyone was staring at me, like I was the villain in the room.

Samantha dabbed at the corners of her reddened eyes with a tissue.

"Ms. Hughes, I'll double-check the data," she said quietly.

Then I corrected her, "Checking isn't enough. Do it all over."

I forced down the pain in my chest and said, "'I want an accurate analysis report and a complete remedial plan on my desk before tomorrow morning's meeting.'"

My gaze swept over her and then lingered on everyone else who'd been watching the drama. "Dismissed."

I stood up before anyone else and headed straight out of the meeting room.

Behind me, the whispers started up again, like a wave crashing over the room.

This time, they didn't even bother to keep it down.

"Who does she think she is? She only got that director spot because of Mr. Patterson," someone sneered.

"Look at the old hag throwing her weight around. Guess menopause hit her early," another snorted.

*****

Back in my office, my computer pinged with a new email from the internal system.

I opened it, and the subject line was bold. [Suggestions for Optimizing Management Communication and Prioritizing Employee Mental Health.]

The sender was the HR director, but I could already tell whose idea this really was.

A few tears from Samantha weighed way more than my outstanding achievements at work.

I let out a cold snort and closed the page, just as Johnny's internal line lit up on my phone.

"Stella, you were pretty intense in that meeting, making Samantha cry," he said lazily and casually with a reassuring tone.

"Samantha's still young and new to this. Of course, she's going to mess up sometimes. Cut her some slack, alright?" he advised.

From his end, I could hear Samantha's muffled sobs, drifting in and out of the call.

I forced myself to sound composed. "The initial numbers Samantha turned in were riddled with errors. It's going to impact our quarterly financials directly."

He said lightly, "Well, everyone makes mistakes sometimes at work. Samantha got her period, so she's not at her best. Try to be a little understanding.

"Oh, and tonight, dinner's on me. I already got our seats at that new barbecue spot."

After work, I slipped into that familiar black sports car of Johnny's. My mood finally started to lighten up.

"She's young and immature. Do me this favor and help her out a bit, alright?" Johnny was basically pleading.

I decided to let it go and not press him.