Unexpected Reunion
“Are you cleaning the restrooms here?” my former classmate casually remarked. She later entered my office for an interview, her complexion drained of color.
“Cleaning the restrooms, are we?” Victoria approached my desk, a smirk curling her lips. Her loud, exaggerated tone reverberated across the office, momentarily halting even the sounds of typing.
She stood before me in a form-fitting cream dress that accentuated her figure perfectly. Flawlessly made up, her hair impeccably styled, she looked as if she had just stepped off the glossy pages of a magazine showcasing the lives of the wealthy and beautiful. In her slender fingers, adorned with a chunky diamond ring, dangled a designer handbag, while her gaze radiated its usual frosty arrogance. In that moment, I was simply watering a modest ficus in my basic beige blazer, feeling the curious eyes of my coworkers upon me.
“No, Victoria,” I replied calmly, meeting her mocking stare. “And I see you still haven’t mastered the art of knocking before entering someone’s office. It seems that’s considered basic etiquette in any decent society.”
She merely scoffed, as if my words were nothing more than childish babbling, then easily pivoted on her towering heels, demonstrating complete disdain. I caught her tossing a comment to someone in the hallway, deliberately loud: “Of course. An old classmate, yet her manners remain dull and pedestrian.”
I didn’t flinch. My cheeks didn’t flush. My fingers didn’t unconsciously tighten. Instead, I slowly wiped the water droplets from the ficus leaf and returned to my reports awaiting my attention. I had long stopped allowing Victoria—or anyone else—to define my self-worth. I knew we would see each other again, but the next encounter would be entirely different, and this time, it would not be the self-absorbed Victoria, whose happiness was so fragile and fleeting.
Victoria and I had crossed paths many years ago in the walls of an ordinary school. She was the undisputed queen of the schoolyard: dazzlingly beautiful, bold, and incredibly self-assured, believing she had the right to command. I was merely the quiet straight-A student, hiding my intelligent gaze behind thick glasses and sporting modest braids. She never stooped to overt mockery; that was too easy for her, too plebeian. Yet, every accidental glance, every barely perceptible condescending smirk thrown my way seemed to say, _“You are insignificant, and your world is as small and uninteresting as you are.”_ After graduation, our paths diverged decisively. I enrolled in a business program, moved to the capital for my studies, fully immersed in my education. Thanks to my perseverance and intellect, I landed a job at a large international company. Years passed, and step by step, I climbed the corporate ladder, first becoming the head of promising projects and later the director of strategic development at a major real estate firm. My life blossomed with a loving husband, a wonderful son, a cozy apartment in the city center, and a stable financial situation that many could only dream of.
As I learned from mutual acquaintances, Victoria’s fate unfolded differently, with more twists and drama. She married a wealthy man, but the marriage quickly crumbled—her husband caught her in an affair. This was followed by a series of brief yet intense romances, mounting debts, and public scandals. The last I saw of her was a photo on social media, posing glamorously on the deck of a luxurious yacht beside an elderly oligarch, though the ring was conspicuously absent from her ring finger.
Then, years after that fleeting office encounter, she reappeared in my life. This time, she stood at the doorway of my personal office, and I caught her reflection in the slightly open blinds. My secretary knocked gently before entering.
“Sofia Konstantinovna, Victoria Semyonova is here for her interview.”
A hint of sardonic amusement stirred within me as I recognized the bitter irony of the situation. _“Of course. Why not? A cruel twist of fate.”_
“Please, let her in,” I nodded.
Victoria entered with the same triumphant smile as before, yet this time, I noticed a distinct nervousness in the corners of her lips. She gracefully settled into the chair opposite my desk, presented her resume before me, and casually crossed her legs.
“What an unexpected encounter,” she said, striving for a nonchalant tone. “I didn’t even think you worked here, let alone in such an office.”
“I never imagined you were even job hunting,” I countered, without glancing at the papers laid before me. “Especially considering your long-standing affection for luxury and a carefree lifestyle.”
Her complexion noticeably paled, and her fingers tightened on the handle of her bag.
“People change, Sofia. I am quite serious and responsible now. I want to start my life anew, leaving past mistakes behind.”
“Starting anew?” I finally met her gaze, feeling a steely determination in my own. “You haven’t even bothered to check that our company currently has no open positions for so-called ‘public relations assistants’ whose resumes boldly declare vague terms like ‘conflict resolution’ and ‘working with VIP clients.’ That sounds quite abstract.”
She shrugged nervously, attempting to maintain her mask of indifference.
“It’s just a metaphor, a figurative expression. I genuinely know how to connect with various people, especially those in high positions who make important decisions.”
“Especially when those decisions directly affect their financial status,” I stated calmly.
She fell silent, and I noticed something unfamiliar flash in her eyes—neither the usual confidence nor the unknown fury, but rather deep confusion and even fear. She seemed to expect me to feel awkward, to blush, perhaps even to justify our shared past. But I had no intention of playing by her old, worn-out rules.
“Listen,” she whispered more softly, the first hint of sincerity surfacing in her voice. “I truly understand that in school… we didn’t always get along. But that’s in the distant past. I genuinely want to work. Honestly and diligently. I have a child now. I really need…”
“You have a child?” I repeated, emphasizing the last word. “How old?”
“The girl is three,” she replied, casting her gaze to the floor. “Her name is Arisha.”
I nodded slowly, and a thought flitted through my mind: _“I wonder who her father is?”_
“Alright,” I said after a brief pause. “Let’s say I am willing to consider your application. But our company has a strict policy: all candidates must undergo a special test for honesty and integrity. This is an internal policy we implemented after a regrettable incident involving theft.”
She furrowed her perfectly shaped brows.
“What test? What does it entail?”
“It’s quite simple. We ask three key questions. All responses are recorded, then carefully cross-checked against our extensive database to ensure complete accuracy. If even one of your answers is found to be false, your application will be promptly rejected without further explanation. Moreover, that information will be swiftly shared across our entire network of partner recruitment agencies. In other words… you can forget about ever getting a job in any reputable company in this city.”
She paled even further, her lips trembling.
“Is that… even legal? Such methods?”
“Absolutely legal and transparent. You signed a consent form for processing data upon entering the building, at security. Did you see it?”
She hesitantly nodded, realizing she had walked into a trap.
“In that case, let’s begin,” I said, retrieving my tablet and activating the recording feature. “Question one: where exactly did you work for the last two years?”
“At the well-known PR agency ‘LuxMedia,’” she quickly blurted out. “I managed strategic promotion for premium brands there.”
“Incorrect,” I retorted coolly. “The ‘LuxMedia’ agency closed down a year and a half ago due to bankruptcy. You were only there for two months before being dismissed for systematic embezzlement of funds from the event budget. You surely remember attempting to write off several bottles of expensive champagne and a lavish dinner in an elite restaurant for yourself and… what was his name? Your then-companion, Artem?”
She abruptly shot up from her chair, her face contorted in rage.
“Were you stalking me?! Following me?”
“No, Victoria. I simply do my job thoroughly and attentively. Just as you… once upon a time, did yours, sneaking designer lipstick into my school bag and delightfully complaining to our homeroom teacher that I stole it.”
She froze, as if struck by lightning.
“That was in eighth grade! That happened so long ago!”
“And unfortunately, you continue to behave as if you are still stuck in that eighth grade. Except now, instead of trivialities like someone else’s lipstick, it’s someone else’s money, husbands, lives, and fates.”
She slowly slumped back into her chair, her head falling wearily onto her chest. Her shoulders trembled noticeably.
“I just… really need to get a job. I’m drowning in debt. I have no one to turn to for help…”
“That is not my concern, unfortunately,” I stated softly yet firmly. “But I am willing to give you one last chance.”
Her tear-filled eyes sparked with hope.
“Really? You’re not joking?”
“Yes. But not here. Not at this company and not in this building. I have a more suitable idea for you.”
A week later, I arrived at a modest shelter for women facing difficult life situations, located in one of the suburbs. Victoria was already waiting for me at the main entrance. Gone were the typical makeup, replaced by simple jeans and a worn-out jacket. She appeared incredibly weary, yet there was a new, calm seriousness in her eyes.
“Are you absolutely sure about this decision?” she asked, looking me straight in the eye.
“Yes, I am sure,” I nodded in response. “You will work here as an employment coordinator. Your job will be to help women who, like you, are in challenging situations, find jobs, create proper resumes, and prepare for interviews. You always knew how to make a strong first impression. Let this skill be of real benefit now, rather than just for immediate gain.”
She nodded silently, absorbing my words.
“Why? Why did you choose to help me after everything that happened?”
“Because I know from experience what it’s like to feel trapped and utterly helpless. I also don’t want your little daughter to ever hear something as hurtful and humiliating as ‘Are you cleaning the restrooms here?’”
She started to cry—quietly, without theatrical sobbing or hysteria, but rather like someone overwhelmed with sudden relief.
“Thank you, Sofia. Thank you so much.”
“No need for thanks. Just try not to let down these women and, most importantly, yourself.”
Months passed. To my surprise, Victoria worked in the shelter with remarkable honesty and dedication. She helped several residents find good positions, leveraging all her old connections and natural charm, now guiding them in the right direction.
Then one day, a new young employee, who had recently come to us on Victoria’s recommendation, knocked on my office door. The girl brought a completed report for a new project, her movements precise and measured. My gaze inadvertently fell upon her delicate wrist, adorned with a simple yet beautiful silver bracelet—a perfect replica of one my own mother had worn many years ago, one I would recognize among a thousand.
“Forgive my curiosity, where did you get such a beautiful bracelet?” I inquired politely, feeling a strange unease stirring within me.
“It wasn’t bought, Sofia Konstantinovna,” the girl smiled. “This is a family heirloom. My grandmother passed it down to my mother many years ago, and my mother, in turn, recently gifted it to me for my birthday.”
My heart stilled.
“And what was your grandmother’s name, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Anna Petrovna,” the simple yet familiar answer rang out.
My heart began to race uncontrollably. Anna Petrovna—my mother’s name. But as far as I knew, my mother had no other daughters except me. Or… perhaps I was unaware of something?
“And your mother… where is she from?” I probed, trying to maintain my composure.
“She’s from Rostov. But she was born, if I’m not mistaken, in a small settlement near Voronezh. Unfortunately, she was placed in an orphanage when she was only three years old. My grandparents died in a terrible car accident back then.”
I slowly rose from my chair and approached the large window, beyond which lay the vast, multifaceted city where I had built my entire life. But at that moment, it suddenly felt foreign and unfamiliar.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” I quietly, almost in a whisper, asked, still gazing out the window.
“Alina,” she replied just as softly.
I took a deep breath and turned back to her, attempting to smile as naturally as possible.
“Alina… I have some time now. Would you like to have a cup of hot tea with me? I have some lovely bergamot, fragrant and delightful.”
She smiled warmly in response.
“I’d love to, Sofia Konstantinovna.”
That evening, I called my mother, my fingers trembling slightly.
“Mom, you… you never told me I might have a sister. Why?”
A long, tense silence fell on the line, and I could hear my mother struggling to hold back tears.
“You must understand, my dear… she was born after something terrible happened to me. I was hurt. I was coming home from work one evening, and there were several of them. They tormented me for a long time. My mental state couldn’t handle it; it was severely affected. And I… I simply couldn’t, didn’t want to see or hear anything about the child born from that horror. It was a little girl… Your father had no choice but to give her to a good orphanage. Later, when I gradually started to recover and began to live again, she had already been adopted by a loving family.”
“I thought you would never find out,” she whispered through quiet sobs. “Your father and I didn’t want to hurt or upset you. You were so fragile, so sensitive after my illness… And later—your schooling, studies, exams… We decided it would be better if we just tried to forget.”
“Forget?” I echoed, my heart twisting in pain. “Mom, how can one simply forget their own child? How?”
“We didn’t forget her, Sofia. Not for a moment. We never lost sight of her. We secretly visited her, bringing gifts while she was still very little…until she was adopted, and we lost track of her. We had no right to interfere in her new life.”
I sat in complete silence, gazing silently at a family portrait on the wall: my mother, father, me in my graduation dress. And no one else. It seemed that had always been the case.
“Alina is now working at my company,” I finally exhaled. “She’s incredibly smart, strong, and very, very beautiful. And, you know, she bears an uncanny resemblance to you, Mom. You at her age, without a doubt.”
My mother cried for real now, and in her sobs mixed pain with relief.
“Please, bring her home, Yulchik. I beg you.”
The next day, I invited Alina to lunch at a quiet, cozy restaurant near the office.
“I want to introduce you to an amazing woman,” I started cautiously. “She has always loved you with all her heart. She just… didn’t know how to find the right words or how to tell you everything. She feared ruining your peace.”
Alina looked at me with mild confusion and curiosity.
“Who are you talking about, Sofia?”
“Your biological mother.”
And what about Victoria? She continues to work at the same shelter, finding her new purpose and meaning in life. Sometimes we share a coffee, reminiscing about the past without bitterness or animosity. She no longer offers that condescending, icy smile. Now, in her eyes, I see genuine respect and quiet, warm gratitude.
Sometimes life, so unpredictable and strange, grants us a second chance—not to repeat old mistakes but to finally amend them, learning important lessons along the way. The key is to cherish this gift and to not ruin everything a third time, for new chances may never arise again. The quiet whispers of the past, like an echo, sooner or later find us in the present, weaving the frayed threads of fates into a united, strong tapestry.