My mom worked harder than anyone I knew. She woke up early, ironed her secondhand blazers, and came home late—all to give me a better life.
Then, I heard her crying after work. Her boss, Richard, had made fun of her clothes in front of the whole office. “You look like you dug through a clearance bin,” he’d laughed.
I saw red.
When Mom got an invitation to the company awards dinner, she didn’t want to go. “I’d feel out of place,” she said. But I pushed her to attend—then secretly teamed up with Richard’s daughter, Zoe, to expose him.
At the dinner, as Richard bragged about his “leadership,” we played recordings of his cruel comments over the loudspeakers. The room went silent.
I stood up. “That’s my mom you’re insulting,” I said. “The one who covers for your mistakes.”
Richard’s face drained of color. Then—shockingly—he apologized. On his knees. In front of everyone.
Days later, Mom was offered a managerial position.
Now, she walks into work with pride—not because her clothes are expensive, but because she knows her worth.
And I? I learned that sometimes, the best way to respect adults is to remind them how to act like one.
