I actually believed life had given me a second chance.
But a year later, she changed.
At first, they were small things.
She started criticizing my clothes, the way I walked, and even my friends.
In front of guests, she would joke,
“George needs everything explained three times. Age is catching up with him.”
Everyone laughed.
I smiled too.
But inside, it hurt.
A young woman named Emily worked in our home. She was twenty-nine, slightly chubby, and always dressed simply. Her mother needed a serious operation, and Emily worked from morning until night trying to earn enough money to pay for the medical expenses.
Lauren did not like her.
“Move faster,” she would often snap. “I’m not paying you to stroll around my house.”