Chapter Five:
The morning sun had barely risen when Violet stepped into the sleek lobby of the corporate building. Glass walls soared overhead, reflecting the pale sunlight that sifted in through the dense city haze. The lobby buzzed with life—office workers hurry-walking in sharp suits, their faces a mixture of fatigue and ambition, clutching coffee cups or scrolling through phones. But beneath the routine energy, a silent pressure draped over Violet like a persistent shadow.
With each step toward the elevator, she felt the weight of the unspoken judgments that trailed her throughout this office, an invisible fog of whispered accusations and sideways glances. She had become used to it — or, more accurately, she had learned to carry it with a quiet determination not to let it define her.
The elevator ride was brief but felt interminable. The mirrored walls reflected her back at her—a woman striving, juggling the impossible balance between mother, professional, and keeper of secrets. The momentsary reflection didn't hide the faint dark shadows under her eyes or the tension in her jaw. She closed her eyelids briefly and reminded herself why she was here.
For Eliot and Eloise.
The doors pinged open, and the fifth floor greeted her with its usual busyness. The hum of voices, ringing phones, and typing keyboards filled the open-plan office. Violet's desk was nestled between cubicles, a small sanctuary littered with drawings from her twins, a couple of well-thumbed notebooks, and a family photo that never left her.
As she settled in, a flicker of movement caught her eye from across the room. Gloria—sharp-featured, always impeccably dressed—gave her a glance so cold that Violet felt the familiar sting of disdain.
"That's the thing with Violet," Gloria had once whispered in the breakroom, loud enough for a few to hear. "'She didn't get here on her own merit.'"
Today, Gloria's icy stare lingered a little longer.
Violet offered a small, polite smile but remained guarded. She'd learned quickly that her colleagues were divided: some truly respected her work ethic, while others resented the favor she had received from Mr. Renshaw, the company's owner. His visible support had become a lightning rod for gossip—an insinuation that her career advancement was bought, not earned. No one said it openly to her face, but the murmurs were unmistakable.
Her phone buzzed, dragging her out of the uncomfortable moment. It was a text from her nanny: Eliot tripped at school but okay. Just wanted you to know.
She exhaled slowly. The reminder of her motherly duties soothed the sharp edge of workplace tension like nothing else could.
Violet turned her attention to the presentation she needed to finalize for the afternoon meeting. The project was one she had poured her energy into, a chance to prove herself on merit alone. But even as she crafted the slides, the rumors crept in every time she caught a sidelong glance.
Later, as Violet passed through the breakroom to grab a cup of coffee, a hushed group by the water cooler fell silent. One voice, unmistakably Sarah from finance, murmured just loud enough to catch Violet's ears, "She's just here because of the boss. Everyone knows it."
Violet forced herself not to flinch. The insults were like smoke—ever-present and intangible, but inevitably finding their way beneath her skin.
Trying to seem casual, she said, "I'd love to hear your suggestions on my work sometime, Sarah."
Sarah's smirk widened, but she merely shrugged and walked away. Violet's heart clenched, but she swallowed the bitterness.
Back at her desk, Mr. Renshaw appeared unexpectedly, his face calm but carrying the weight of years of experience and understanding.
"You're doing excellent work, Violet," he said quietly, lowering his voice. "Don't let anyone shake you."
His words were a lifeline. Violet nodded, suddenly feeling the fragile shield around her heart strengthen by a fraction.
The office day stretched long. Violet juggled emails, phone calls, and last-minute requests while fending off the murmurs and stares. But her resilience carved pathways through the tension—each keystroke a quiet rebellion.
In a quiet moment, she glanced at a cheerful drawing taped beside her computer—a picture of Eliot and Eloise holding hands, under a bright sun with the word "Mommy" scrawled in childish letters. The image steeled her resolve.
By mid-afternoon, the presentation began. Violet stood before colleagues, speaking with clarity and calm, navigating questions with steady confidence. The work was solid, and despite the undercurrent of skepticism in the room, she could see some faces soften with grudging respect.
Still, as it ended, Gloria approached near the exit, voice low but sharp. "Don't let this place fool you, Violet. You're skating on thin ice. They're just waiting for you to slip."
Violet met Gloria's eyes steadily. "I'm standing just fine, thanks." With that, she turned and walked away, her back straight despite the turmoil inside.
When the day finally wound down, Violet gathered her belongings. The fading sunlight cast long shadows on the polished floor as she exhaled—a mix of exhaustion and quiet triumph. The walk to the bus stop was brisk and solitary beneath the fading city lights. She clutched her coat tighter, thoughts swirling between the demands of work and the soft faces of Eliot and Eloise waiting for her at home.
The whispers and sideways glances were battles she fought daily, but she would not let them define her. Every step, no matter how hard, was for her children—for their future free from scandal and silent judgement.
As the city lights blinked on, the resolve inside Violet burned brighter than ever. She was more than the rumors. She was a mother. She was a survivor.
And she would rise.