Saleswoman Flips off Poor Client at Fancy Store – Story of the Day

When an old man walked into the store, Wendy knew he couldn't afford their shoes and tried to get him out until her manager called her to the back office and announced the opportunity Wendy had wanted for a long time.

The bell above the entrance chimed, and Wendy's gaze darted toward the door. Her mouth was prepared to greet the new customers, but it closed right up as her perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed at the old man shuffling in. One look at his weathered coat told her everything she needed to know about him: he couldn't afford anything in this store.

She approached the elderly man, but not like she would with a real customer. Wendy needed to get him out as soon as possible. "Good afternoon, sir. Can I assist you?" she inquired, her voice saccharine sweet, masking her disgust.

The old man offered a pleasant smile. "I'm looking for a pair of shoes for my granddaughter."

Wendy chuckled awkwardly before pursing her lips. "Sir, you may be better off somewhere else. Maybe, a kid's shop."

"Why? My granddaughter is a grown woman," the old man continued, pointing at some shoes. "She loves this kind of thing. But I don't know anything about female shoes, so I would really appreciate your help."

Wendy was still pursing her lips and trying not to show her impatience. "Still, perhaps another store will have something more...ugh… suited for you and your granddaughter."

"I don't understand.

"Sir," she pronounced the word slowly, working hard to hide her true meaning. "Our shoes are very expensive and exclusive. Our prices reflect that, and I don't think you can afford them." Despite her ability to be the most charming person in the world, Wendy couldn't hide her tone and mannerisms.

The old man frowned slightly at her, his gaze still fixed on a pair of shoes, one of the most expensive in the store. "I want to see these. Do you have a size 7?" he asked, failing to realize the saleswoman's implication.

Wendy's fake smile started twitching. "Sir, didn't you hear what I said?" she began, but her pretend pleasantness could no longer hold up. "You can't possibly afford these shoes. Please, leave."

"How do you know I can't buy them?" he wondered with a slight head tilt.

She couldn't contain the laugh that slipped out but tried to cough to hide it. "Trust me. I've been working here a long time," she bragged. "People who can buy these shoes are… much different than you. I can tell. Again, leave before you scare our real clients away."

"I have money," the old, poor-looking man said. "I'm a real client."

"It's not just about money," Wendy continued with a curled lip. "Racking up credit card debt you won't pay off isn't a good idea. But hell, I don't care what you do. This brand is exclusive, and if we let anyone just wear our shoes, its value will go down. I can't let that happen. I take my job very seriously."

"That doesn't make any sense," the old man insisted, his bushy eyebrows so wrinkled Wendy could barely see his eyes. "As long as someone has enough money to pay, you should let them buy what they want."

"Enough!" Wendy lost her temper, her fake façade crumbling entirely. "You need to get out of here before I call mall security. You're already stinking up the store with your rusty, old smell, and other, more brand-like people have passed by without even entering. You think you can wear one of these shoes?"

She grabbed one of the most popular and pricier male pairs and waved it in the old man's face. "You think you would look good in these?" Wendy asked, laughing hysterically. "What are you going to match them with? That coat that has been out of style and worn to near extinction? Are you insane?"

"Ma'am," the old man's face was the picture of surprise. "How can you speak to people like that?"

"Oh, now you're offended?" Wendy continued, her laughter still resonated with intense cruelty, and she flipped him off with both hands. "I asked you nicely to leave. Twice! And you didn't listen. Now, I have to get tough to protect the brand. God, I wouldn't even have let you try them on. We would have to use an air freshener in the store and throw these away! I'm such a fantastic worker. If it were up to me, I would in HQ, as a marketing executive, making sure only the most VIPs could buy our stuff."

"You won't get far with that attitude."

"Ha! What do you know about our store or me? I'm the best worker they have, and I'll work my way up. You'll see," Wendy said proudly before changing her tone. "Well, you won't. You'll go back to shopping bargain or Goodwill or something."

Her laughter got even louder, an echo heard throughout the store. Wendy didn't notice, but several customers had stopped by the entrance, seen her, and kept walking. But it wasn't because of the old man. They were wrinkling their noses at the loud saleswoman.

A couple had just finished paying, and they stopped to frown at her before leaving with their bags. Wendy's coworker, Erica, heard their comments.

"What a loser," the man murmured in his wife's ear.

"I don't get it. She's an employee here and acting like the Real Housewife of Nowhere," the woman said. "I don't think we'll come back to this place ever again."

Erica flushed at those words. They had been so pleased before, but Wendy had ruined the possibility of them coming back. She was about to step in between her and the old man when someone interrupted them.

"Wendy. Erica. Both of you, come to my office, please," their manager, Mr. Anderson, commanded. Erica hesitated but rushed, knowing that Wendy would have to follow, too.

Wendy watched with disdain as Erica's perky little ponytail bounced to the back of the store. Ugh, always so eager. But that attitude won't get you far with that fat man. He's an idiot, she thought cattily before turning back to the poor man.

"Listen, I'm going to see my boss, and when I come back out, I expect you to be gone," she spoke, gesturing with her finger. "Don't you dare touch any shoes while no one is here! You won't be able to run far before mall security gets you. Am I clear?"

The old man stared blankly back as Wendy clicked her heels quickly to see what Mr. Anderson wanted in his office. She just hoped this meeting wasn't some sort of lecture about treating all customers better. She could barely stomach warning that old man away.

Her quick and calculative mind devised several excuses before she fully crossed his office door. If he had something to say about her attitude, Wendy could claim that it was a necessary evil to maintain the brand's exclusivity.

In Mr. Anderson's office, she held her head high. Erica stood straight and ready for instruction like a good little girl. The brown noser, Wendy thought. I'm still better… and prettier. Discreetly, she arranged her button-down shirt to show a little more cleavage. The fat man they called their boss loved to ogle her.

Mr. Anderson was behind his desk, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His demeanor eased Wendy's mild concerns about her customer service. He noticed my boobs! Ha! Works every time!

"Ladies, I have some news to share. I've been offered a new position and will leave this store soon," Mr. Anderson revealed.

"Congratulations!" Erica yipped, excited.

Wendy repeated the sentiment but added her signature sugar. "I can't think of anyone who deserves it more!" Obviously, someone like me. Unless it's accounting or something. Yuck.

"You'll be going to the HQ office downtown?" her coworker wondered. Her guileless expression was irritating.

"Yes, Erica. I'm the new Regional Manager," Mr. Anderson said, moving his shoulder happily.

"Amazing!" Erica clapped.

Wendy applauded a little, too, but her mind was already elsewhere. She understood why he had called them into the office. With his promotion, the spot of store manager was open.

Some companies would send someone from headquarters or another branch to fill the position, but Mr. Anderson had always told them their brand liked promoting people from the inside. It inspired employee loyalty and boosted morale in all their stores.

So, Wendy's grin widened. She knew this was her opportunity, especially because she had been at the store longer than Erica. There was no way Mr. Anderson would choose someone else.

"Thank you, girls. Your happiness warms my heart," he continued. "It took a lot of hard work and years of commitment, but it finally happened. And, of course, this news means one of you will be promoted to store manager. As you know, we like to keep our employees happy and give chances within the team."

"That's wonderful," Erica nodded.

Not for you, girl. Don't get excited. This is my time!

"And I would imagine seniority plays a factor in that decision. Right?" Wendy chimed in with the subtle reminder, feeling the smugness coloring her tone.

"Actually, gals. In this case, being here longer won't get you the position," Mr. Anderson clarified, biting his bottom lip. "Our brand wants to focus on quality, not quantity. Instead, you'll have a little competition today."

Excuse me? "Today?" Wendy whined, frowning. She looked at her watch. They had one hour before closing time.

"What's the competition?" Erica asked curiously.

"Whoever gets the biggest sale by 6 p.m. will get the promotion," he said, excited.

"The biggest sale just before closing time? Isn't that a little rushed?" Wendy asked, trying not to complain.

"It is, but I'm counting the entire day, too," Mr. Anderson replied.

"I just don't see how it's fair," she insisted, leaning slightly toward his desk. "It wouldn't make sense for the person who's been here the longest to get overlooked over something that's not in our control."

"I saw you had a customer, and Erica just had one, too," their boss waved his hands.

"But—"

"Wendy," he stopped her. "I didn't make this thing up. This order came directly from the top. But remember. Our clients want to feel great when they're here. That's why they come to our store instead of buying everything online. You treat them well, and you can make that sale happen. I'll be looking at all of today's sales. You both still have time."

Wendy's worried for a second longer before deciding to rise to the occasion. A smirk colored her face quickly. Erica didn't know how to spot genuinely wealthy people and often wasted time on window shoppers. But she was different. Her rich radar went into overdrive as she started nodding.

"Of course, Mr. Anderson. That sounds like a great opportunity to show off what we can do," Wendy added, smirked at Erica, and almost left the office. Her mind was swirling with strategy.

She knew wealthy clients hated being harassed by salespeople while they looked at shops, so that was out of the question. They liked to go in and get the best service but not be interrupted or asked too many questions.

I can do this, but what if no one else comes in? Wendy thought but shook her head and returned to the store.

Her steps halted as an audible groan escaped her mouth. The poor old man was still waiting around despite her earlier words. But Wendy decided to simply ignore him, paying close attention to the door. Her heels started tapping the floor with nervousness.

Today had been slow, so Erica was the only one who had sold something to a couple. But they had bought one purse on the cheaper side, so it wasn't so bad. Just one pair of shoes could help Wendy win. It all depended on the correct type of customer.

"Why aren't you helping your customer?" Erica's voice startled her.

"That's not a customer. That's a nuisance that refuses to leave despite being asked several times," Wendy responded, crossing her arms and refusing to look away from the store entrance.

"Nuisance?" her coworker wondered. "What did he do?"

"Nothing!" Wendy said, agitated. "That's the problem. I know he can't buy anything here, but insists on staying. I told him to leave before we went to Mr. Anderson's office and look at him. Still loitering." Shut up and leave me alone. I have to focus.

"Wendy, maybe he does want to buy something," Erica insisted, too cheery. "You should go help him. It wouldn't be right to let customers think we don't welcome everyone."

I can't stand your happy little voice. "Girl, look," Wendy sighed, exasperated. "I know you haven't been here that long…"

"It's been a year," Erica frowned.

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "But you have to know your customers. You have to know who will buy good shoes and who is here just pretending like they can."

"That shouldn't matter," her coworker responded. "We should just assist everyone whether they buy something or not. It's our job."

Oh, Little Miss Sunshine. She's not gonna get anywhere with that mentality. But maybe I could use that to my advantage. Let her get distracted. "No, right now," Wendy continued with a curled upper lip, "our job is to get the biggest sale of the day. I'm not wasting my precious time on that lost case. You're welcome to, though. But you'll be missing out."

"Wendy, remember what Mr. Anderson said," Erica chided gently. "It's not about quantity. It's about quality. We have to make all our clients feel like VIPs."

"There's no way to make an old, poor man like that feel like a VIP," Wendy shook her head. "Mr. Anderson also said he was looking for the biggest sale of the day. That doesn't count the amount of clients assisted. That means the largest amount of money spent at once." She pointed at the corner where the point of sale and the computer rested.

"You're being a little snobby, aren't you? And what if that old man had a credit card? He could buy something and be the biggest sale of the day," Erica continued, not realizing that Wendy had stopped listening. "Our boss won't check the client's net worth, just what he spent. You know, if you focus—"

"Listen, little girl," Wendy interrupted. "I don't need advice on sales from someone like you. I've been in this game longer and know who will buy the best shoes. Go to the old man if it's that important. I already have my eye on a different customer."

Wendy looked toward the entrance, where a well-dressed young man walked in, removing his sunglasses. His eyes zeroed in on the most expensive pairs of shoes. Wendy knew right away this was her guy. She turned back to Erica.

You better start sending resumes because I'm going to fire your perky little ponytail as soon as I get promoted.

"See? This is the guy that will get me the manager position," Wendy added smugly. "Good luck with your client, but I must warn you that a lot will change once I get promoted. Who knows? I may have to hire another saleswoman who understands our brands and what exclusivity means."

Wendy flipped her hair at Erica and walked to her sure-thing customer. "Hello, sir. My name is Wendy. How can I help find something today?" she asked. Her sweetness was natural this time but still cunning.

"Hello, Wendy. I'm Tony," the customer introduced himself and inquired about the shoes on display. Oh, he has taste! The client was examining the best and newest items.

"Of course," she continued, full of saccharine. "Would you like to try them on? I'll get several from the back."

"That would be wonderful," Tony insisted. "But since you're going back there. Let me see these two also in all the colors you have available. Size 11."

"Coming right up," Wendy added. Her confidence was at an all-time high. This is going to be the biggest sale ever, not just today.

She grabbed Tony's requested shoes and walked toward the back of the store to get the right size. Her eyes caught Erica, who had gone to the old man as soon as Wendy went to assist Tony. They were laughing. How quaint! She rolled her eyes but still listened to some of their conversation.

"My granddaughter doesn't complain about anything, but she is so picky about shoes," the old man commented, and Erica smiled widely, the picture of charm.

"Well, all women are. Good shoes take you to good places," Erica commented. "How about I show you the most popular ones? I've only got those in a few sizes because they tend to fly off the shelves. But I think you should still see them."

"That's sound wonderful, young lady," the old man chuckled. "I need to give her something she'll like, not return."

Wendy scoffed and finally continued walking towards the back. As if his granddaughter could afford to be picky, she thought, but felt a twitch in her eye. Could I have been wrong about the man? No. Nah. No way. I can smell money from a mile away. So, she continued, grabbing everything Tony had requested.

Her hands were full, and her feet started hurting from going back and forth between the store and their storage. Tony was taking his sweet time trying on stuff and walking. He also took pictures of the shoes he liked, which not all customers did.

Whatever, as long as he buys something soon. The delay was making Wendy angsty. Her nerves got even worse when another round of laughter came from Erica and the old man. But she maintained her big smile for Tony and focused.

"I like these the most," Tony stood and gyrated in front of the mirror.

"They're the ones here, sir. You have excellent taste," Wendy complimented him sincerely. They weren't the most expensive, but still high-end and classy. She wondered how this man made his money, and due to this choice, Wendy was sure it was old money.

Good, what it would be like to marry generational wealth, she daydreamed. I should try to get his number, but how?

Tony sat back on the store chair and started removing his shoes. "Let me do that for you," Wendy said and knelt, showing off the cleavage she had revealed earlier for Mr. Anderson.

"Uh. Thank you," he responded, letting her do it. "You're good at your job."

"I'm even better at other jobs, Tony," she flirted, hoping her lipstick remained intact. The client stared back at her with hooded eyes, and Wendy knew he was seduced.

"Okay," he cleared his throat and went through his phone. "These three pairs are definitely the best. Black, blue, and dark green."

"Excellent," Wendy stood, beaming. "Let me ring them up for you!"

"What?" Tony asked, putting his phone away.

"You can come to the register, or I could take your card right now and swipe it," she suggested.

"You think I'm buying stuff here?" he scoffed.

"Excuse me, sir?" Wendy's smile faltered.

"I'm not buying this overpriced stuff," Tony continued, chuckling as he stood. "I have a buddy of mine who makes custom shoes for a fraction of this thing, and they are all much better quality."

"Sir, but I ju-just," she stuttered, watching him put on his shoes.

"Besides, all shoes today are made in sweatshops all over Asia. They are all cheap, but people think they can charge over $400 for them just by plastering the name of a brand," Tony ranted. "I wouldn't be caught dead spending that much money."

Wendy was speechless as her client continued his diatribe, realizing she had wasted all her time. Did my money radar fail?

"But if you still want to go to dinner," the client suggested. "We can split the che—"

"Have a very nice day, sir," Wendy cut him off immediately. Splitting a dinner check? This guy is a loser.

Tony smirked, put his sunglasses back on, and left the store. Wendy's heart was running a mile a minute, and she finally noticed Erica and the old man.

"Sir, let me put these back, and I'll ring the shoes you've picked," her perky voice was grating, but her message gave her goosebumps. The old, poor man was buying something. Not just something. Three pairs of shoes!

Erica left to the back, and Wendy knew she needed to act quickly. She grabbed some of the boxes she had brought and reached the storage. Her coworker was putting some things away, and Wendy threw the boxes and ran to the door, locking it behind her. She even added a nearby chair to stop.

"Wendy?" Erica yelled. "Wendy?! What are you doing? Let me out! What is this?! Please, I have claustrophobia! Please!"

"If you think I'm going to work for your little cheery butt, you have another thing coming!" Wendy screamed, double-flying, checking how secure the door was again and clomping her heels back to the front.

"Sir, let's ring up your choices," she said, smiling widely and grabbing the three boxes the old man had beside him.

"Wait. Where is Erica?" he asked, following her to the register.

"Oh, she got busy in the back and asked me to handle this," Wendy lied seamlessly as her fingers hurried on the keys. The total was almost $1,000, but the old man didn't blink as he passed her his card.

"Mr. Eaton," she read the name on the card. Black card. Well, I really got this wrong. "You're all set here, sir."

Mr. Eaton took the bill and frowned. "Wait, this doesn't have Erica's name. Are you Wendy?"

"Yes, I am, sir," she answered, pretending to be oblivious.

"That means you get this commission, but you didn't even want to assist me," Mr. Eaton continued. "Erica was the nice one."

"Sir, no. That's not what you think. It's just protocol because I rang your order up," Wendy improvised. "She'll still get credit for the sale."

"Really? How is your boss supposed to know when it's just your name here?"

"I'll tell him. Don't worry about this, Mr. Eaton," she insisted. Her fake smile started hurting, but she had to keep it until he left. "It's just a formality. We know who made the sale."

"I won't leave until I get to thank and say goodbye to Erica," the old man insisted.

"Sir, I had to come out here because…she needed to leave early. It's a family emergency or something. That's why she asked me to help with your order," Wendy replied. God, leave!

"That's a lie!" someone bellowed, and Wendy's heart skipped a beat at the vision of Erica standing next to Mr. Anderson.

"Erica, don't make a scene in front of our customers," Wendy said. The tightness in her face was getting worse.

"A scene?"

"You asked me to help."

"I didn't. You locked me in the closet!" Erica continued.

"That's…" Wendy put on her best-offended face, "insane. Erica, I would never do that in a million years. I stored some boxes and left. I saw that Mr. Eaton was still waiting and thought about helping him."

"You're lying!"

Who's going to believe you? "Mr. Anderson, I think Erica's competitive instincts are getting the best of her. She doesn't sound right," Wendy focused on their boss.

"Wendy," Mr. Anderson stared blankly. "You know we have cameras in the storage room. Right?"

What? No.

"Of course," she said, wetting her lips. "We should check them. Totally."

"I already have. I saw you locking her," Mr. Anderson continued. "I think your competitive instincts clouded your senses. Or is it because you wasted your time on a young man who didn't buy anything?"

"Sir, that's not true," Wendy muttered. "I just… didn't think it was fair that someone who hasn't been here as long as me could become the boss. She doesn't even respect or understand this brand."

"And you do?" Mr. Eaton asked. Wendy turned to give him a nasty reply, but his expression gave her pause.

"I do know this brand. Luxury brands need to be exclusive and selective with their clients. It's not just about money. It's about prestige," Wendy answered, confused.

"But you were happy to take credit for this sale possibly," Mr. Eaton continued.

"Again, sir. I wasn't going to take credit," she lied, but her words contradicted her complaints from a second ago. "Sir, this doesn't concern you. You have your items; if you excuse us, it's closing time."

Mr. Eaton turned to Mr. Anderson and nodded.

Their boss cleared his throat. "Ladies, let me introduce our brand's CEO," Mr. Anderson stated, waving to the old man.

Wendy felt her soul exit her body and saw the scene from the vantage point of the ceiling.

"Mr. Eaton asked me for this test, and I thought it was a fantastic idea," their boss continued.

Mr. Eaton spoke. "I like to take a hands-on approach to our stores. I like seeing and interacting with our salespeople, especially when they don't know who I am."

Wendy's soul returned to Earth, but she felt dead still. Mild irritation colored her cheeks after noticing Erica's slack jaw.

"You, young lady," Mr. Eaton spoke directly to Erica, "are an absolute delight. You were polite and efficient. But you also have the quick wit I so love in my granddaughter. I also saw you with that couple earlier. They would've left here happily if it wasn't for your friend."

Wendy stood straighter as the CEO turned to her.

"On the other hand, you, Wendy, are a horrible human being," Mr. Eaton said, shaking his head. "You took one look at my coat — which belonged to my grandfather, a self-made man — and decided I wasn't worth your time."

"Sir, I'm so—"

"I'm not done," he shut her up. "It wasn't enough to try to shoo me from my own store, but you mocked me. Mocked me. In front of other customers. You think that makes you good at your job?"

Wendy swallowed.

"It doesn't," Mr. Eaton pointed at Erica. "The couple she assisted was happy until they heard you. Do you know who she was? The running mayor's daughter. She said she wasn't coming back because of your attitude. You lost us a big client today."

At last, there was a lull in the air. "Sir, I'm so sorry. I wasn't fe-feeling well today, and the pressure of the con-contest made things worse," Wendy stuttered.

"You mocked me before the contest was announced," Mr. Eaton said, raising his eyebrows.

The saleswoman didn't have another excuse in her pocket, so she lowered her head in shame.

"Well, that means Erica is the new store manager," Mr. Eaton continued. "Congratulations, young lady. If you keep your studies up, I expect you to be in HQ soon."

"Oh, sir," Erica gushed. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"As for you, young woman," the CEO turned to Wendy again. "I don't want someone like you in any of my stores. You're fired."

"Sir, please," Wendy looked up, panicked. "Please, give me another chance. I beg you. I could lose my apartment."

"That's not our problem," Mr. Eaton shook his head. "Get out before I call mall security." The words were a knife in her cold heart.

"Let's go to Mr. Anderson's office," Mr. Eaton said to Erica. "We need to discuss your new salary, and you'll need some help here."

They left, and Wendy watched them go. Her usual snarkiness had not returned because the numbness still had control of her body. But she didn't want to stay there any longer. In the back area, she grabbed her purse, stole a candy bar for later, and moved to leave.

But Erica was blocking her way. Wendy's felt her real personality rising.

"Wendy, I'm sorry about this," Erica started.

"Don't feel sorry for me," Wendy barked. "I'll find a much better job soon."

"Wendy, stop that attitude," her former coworker said. "It's what got you in this pickle, and I want to offer you the chance to make things right."

"A chance?"

"I want you to stay working with us," Erica said. "I just begged Mr. Eaton on your behalf. But I'll have to see you treating people equally and doing a better job. You will help with inventory and arranging the back storage, which you never did before."

"I don't need your pity, little girl," Wendy scoffed, but her bravado was totally fake. She did need the job.

"I'm throwing you a lifeline here," her potential new boss said. "I won't offer it again. Here's your chance to right your wrongs, become a better employee, and keep your job."

Wendy looked away as she thought about it. The job market right then was terrible. She never went to college and had worked in sales her entire adult life. This was her best job, as a luxury brand was better than any other retailer.

Can I work under this girl? Wendy asked herself as the humiliation washed over her body. I can't. I can't. No.

"Huh," Wendy shook her head. "You think you're such a nice person. But you just wanted to see me in this position, right? Did you want to see my shame? Well, no. I don't want to work for you."

"Wendy, you're letting your pride cloud your judgment here," Erica continued, and her levelheadedness was infuriating.

"Oh, God! Can you get off your high horse? You're so irritating. I can't stand it," she screamed and started swinging her purse. "Get out of my way! Get out of my way!"

Wendy walked into the almost empty mall and turned, only to see Mr. Anderson and Mr. Eaton shaking their heads. Erica joined them, and then they disappeared to the back.

***

"Ugh!" Wendy groaned after stopping her video. "Finally, it's over."

She grabbed her phone and started the arduous process of editing to post online. As an influencer, Wendy had to keep posting daily, or her followers would lose interest, and she wouldn't get brand deals.

"Wendy, what are you doing?" someone called out. "I need to get in there!"

It was Martha, her 50-year-old coworker. Wendy swallowed, put her phone back in her pocket, and quickly donned her uniform vest.

"Sorry, Martha," she said, shrugging.

"Girl! Caroline will notice if you keep taking these breaks!" Martha urged. "Go out there."

"Yes, sorry," Wendy apologized and ran to handle the floor. I hate Caroline… and Martha… and everyone.

Ten years had passed since she got fired from the shoe store, and as promised, she had found another job. Except it wasn't at another luxury brand. It was at a big department with the blue vest anyone could recognize.

Her attitude hadn't changed much either, except she learned quickly how to keep it in check. She did treat customers better, but it was because her supervisor, Caroline, would've fired her in a second. A client complained about her only two weeks after Wendy got the job, and she was also booted.

She had to act nicely to avoid losing her apartment and kept trying to find other jobs. But nothing worked out. Social media boomed then, and Wendy soon attempted to become a fashion influencer. But she had only 5,000 followers after years and could barely review anything.

A few small brands sent her things, but it wasn't enough. Wendy was also getting older, which was a huge factor online. She couldn't afford good stuff either. This wasn't where she envisioned her life at all. And it was about to get worse.

An irritating voice she hadn't heard in a long time called her name. Wendy turned and saw Erica, who wasn't the same young girl from the shoe store. Her hair was shiny with no hint of gray. Her clothes were high-end, although covered by the most exceptional coat Wendy had ever seen. Her boots were too die-for, and her makeup was on point.

"He-hello," Wendy said, swallowing. "Erica, right?"

"I didn't think you would remember me," Erica said, smiling. "You work here?"

"Ye-yeah," she responded.

"Can you help me find the toy section? I'm all lost," her former coworker asked politely, not a hint of cattiness like Wendy would've had if she had been in her place.

"Sure," Wendy nodded. "Follow me."

"Honey, over here," Erica called to someone, and the most handsome man rounded the corner with two little boys wrapped around his legs. "Wendy, this is my husband, Oliver, and my boys, Blake and Drake."

"It's nice to meet you," Wendy said, swallowing again. "If you'll follow me, please."

"How do you know each other?" Oliver asked as they walked to the kid's section.

"We worked together," Erica said when Wendy didn't answer, "at your grandfather's store."

Wendy almost slipped in shock. But she righted herself quickly. She married Mr. Eaton's grandson?

"He-here you go," she said in a high-pitched voice.

"Thank you," Erica said and frowned as the boys broke free of their father and ran to the toys. "Oh, boy."

"Are you looking for anything specific?" Wendy asked. She hated to ask, but it was her job, and her snarky backbone was gone.

"They're getting their first bikes," Erica said, watching them tenderly.

"So, you married Mr. Eaton's grandson?" Wendy asked.

"Yeah," her former coworker nodded happily. "I was promoted, and Mr. Eaton introduced us."

"That's great," Wendy said, but speaking almost hurt.

"How long have you been here?"

"A few years," she responded thickly.

"Are you married?" Erica continued, and Wendy looked into her eyes. There wasn't a trace of pettiness or superiority in her expression. She was just plainly curious.

"No, not yet," Wendy replied.

"Do you have these in blue?" Oliver interrupted.

"No," Wendy shook her head. "Sorry. It's too close to the holidays. I could back order them if you want."

"No, no. That's ridiculous, Oliver. Just pick between green and black. It's fine," Erica directed at her husband.

"Your kids are… beautiful," Wendy mumbled.

"Thank you," Erica sighed happily. "But they're a handful."

"I suppose you quit your job when you had them," she continued.

"God, no!" Erica laughed. "I'm VP of Marketing. I love my job, and I worked hard for it."

Sure…very hard, Wendy thought but hoped her expression didn't reflect her mind.

"That's wonderful. Congratulations," she said.

"We'll take these two," Oliver said, and Wendy approached him. "Let me help with that."

"Oh, I'll take them," Oliver shook his head.

"Sir, it's my job," Wendy insisted and grabbed the kids' bikes. "They lightweight anyway."

They followed the protocol to ring up their purchase, and Wendy said her goodbyes.

"Thank you, Wendy," Erica said. "It was so nice to see you."

I bet it was. "Yes, it was," she replied.

Her husband took the boys and the bikes toward the entrance, but Erica hesitated. "Let me ask you something," she started. "Do you regret it?"

"What?" Wendy frowned.

"Not taking my lifeline," Erica clarified. "Back then."

Wendy couldn't respond. She was transported to that moment where she should've said yes. So she just stared at her former coworker blankly.

Erica nodded with a knowing smile. She patted Wendy's shoulder and left, following her husband.

Wendy stared at the door for a little too long. That should've been my life. My husband. My kids. My position, she thought with all scorn in the world directed at Erica. A tear escaped. It almost felt like all the venom in her soul had slipped out.

"You took my life," Wendy whispered to no one. "I'll take it back."

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