I reached up and ran my fingers through my long, restored hair. Then I slid a pair of scissors across the mahogany desk toward her. Her face turned ghost white. Her knees gave out. I pointed to the scissors and said… “You can have the job. But first, we need to fix your look.”

Her lips tremble. She stares at the scissors like they’re a snake ready to strike. Her fingers clutch the edges of the chair, knuckles white, as she sinks into it.

“You’re… her,” she breathes. “You’re her.”

I lean forward. “I’m me, Brenda. The same girl you humiliated. The same woman you kicked out like garbage. The one you called ‘street trash’—remember that?”

She blinks rapidly, like if she does it fast enough, the office will disappear, and she’ll wake up back in her mansion, surrounded by her precious furniture and china collections. But it doesn’t happen.

“This—this isn’t right,” she whispers, looking around, hoping for some saving grace to appear. “You’re in charge?”

“I own this company,” I say calmly. “Everything you see here? The building. The furniture. The staff. Mine.”

Brenda looks like she’s about to vomit. “I didn’t know. I didn’t recognize you.”

“No,” I agree, standing up, letting my heels click slowly against the polished floor as I circle the desk. “Because you never saw me. Not really. You only saw what you wanted: a poor girl who didn’t deserve your son. A nuisance. A burden.”

She’s trembling now. Her hands go up in defense when I stop in front of her.

“Please,” she says, her voice cracking. “I’ve lost everything. The foreclosure notice came last month. We’re in a motel. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

I look at her. At the once proud, sneering woman who told me to pack my bags and leave after publicly degrading me. I look at the torn hem of her blouse, the deep lines in her face, the graying hair tied back with a rubber band.

“Cut your hair,” I say. “Then we’ll talk.”

Her mouth opens, then closes again. Her eyes flick to the scissors on the desk, then back to me. “Is this a joke?”

“You like lessons, Brenda,” I reply evenly. “Remember? That’s what you said to me. That you were ‘teaching me a lesson.’ You told me I’d thank you one day. Consider this your turn.”

Tears fill her eyes. “I—I can’t…”

“Then there’s the door.” I nod toward it.

She hesitates. For a moment, I think she’s going to bolt. But then she drags herself up from the chair, walks toward the desk with dragging steps, and picks up the scissors.

Her hand shakes so violently I think she might drop them. But she doesn’t.

She takes a deep breath, lifts a brittle strand of her dull, thinning hair, and hacks it off. It falls to the floor like ash.

One side of her head is now inches shorter than the other. Uneven, jagged.

I don’t flinch. Neither does she.

She cuts another chunk. Then another.

Soon, her hair is a chaotic mess of patches and uneven lengths. A pitiful parody of the cruelty she once dished out.

She places the scissors back on the desk with slow, deliberate care. Her hand hovers there for a second before she pulls it back to her chest like a wounded animal.

“I did it,” she says hoarsely. “Now… please. I’ll clean toilets. I’ll mop floors. Just let me work.”

I pause, staring at her, letting the silence stretch.

Then I walk back to my chair and sit down, crossing my legs with slow elegance.

“You’ll be paid fairly,” I say. “Treated respectfully. But if you disrespect anyone on this staff—even the intern—you’re gone. Understood?”

She nods so quickly it looks like her neck might snap.

“And Brenda,” I add, “you’ll address me as Ms. Carter. We’re not family.”

She lowers her eyes. “Yes… Ms. Carter.”

I press the intercom. “Maya, please show Ms. Carter to the facilities team. She can begin orientation today.”

My secretary responds, “Right away.”

Brenda stands, and for a moment, she looks like she wants to say something else. Maybe a thank you. Maybe an apology. But she doesn’t.

She walks out, head lowered, scissors still echoing in the silence she leaves behind.

I let out a slow breath.

I didn’t think it would feel this way. Victory. Justice. I always imagined it would taste sweet, like warm caramel. But it doesn’t. It tastes like iron and ash.

Still, it’s not bitterness. It’s closure.

Later that afternoon, Maya knocks gently on my door. “Everything’s set. She’s with the team now. Quiet. Obedient. Looks like she’ll do fine.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“She asked if you were really the same girl. She kept saying you didn’t look the same.”

I smile faintly. “People change.”

Maya tilts her head. “You know… you’re really gracious, Ms. Carter. I wouldn’t have hired her.”

“I didn’t do it for her,” I reply. “I did it for me. Because I remember what it’s like to be desperate. To be humiliated. And I swore that if I ever made it, I’d never become her.”

Maya nods slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. “Still. You’re stronger than most.”

I turn back to the window and watch the city bustle below.

The past no longer chains me. I’m not the girl with a shaved head sobbing in a stranger’s apartment. I’m not begging anyone to see my worth.

I made it. And I did it without stepping on anyone.

That night, I stay late at the office. I walk the halls, nodding at the janitors, the security staff, the interns. I see Brenda down the hall, quietly mopping the marble floor. She doesn’t notice me.

She moves slowly, but with focus. Her back is slightly hunched, her worn shoes squeak softly with each step. She pauses now and then, wincing, like her knees ache.

I almost look away. Almost.

But then she turns her head, and our eyes meet.

For a second, we just stare at each other. No words. No expressions. Just silence.

Then—barely, just barely—she nods.

And I nod back.

Not with malice. Not with vengeance. Just acknowledgment.

The past is done.

I walk away.

Let her mop. Let her rebuild.

And let me rise—higher than she ever imagined possible.

I leave the office that night with my heels echoing on polished floors, my head held high, and my long, healthy hair catching the golden light of the setting sun.