The manager wished to quietly assist the cleaner, but instead stumbled upon something unexpected in her bag.

Timothy spotted a young cleaning lady in the corner, her face marked by tears.

“Excuse me, is everything alright? Did someone upset you?” he asked gently.

The girl flinched, quickly drying her eyes, and replied, “I’m sorry for the bother. I’m fine.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Are you really okay?” Timothy pressed, concern evident in his tone.

“Yes, really. I should get back to work,” she hastily responded before making her way out of sight.

Alone in the office, Timothy scratched his head, pondering that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. As he walked to his office, he considered how he could help the girl. Upon entering, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, recalling his old colleague, Miss Patricia Johnson.

Patricia had been a fixture at the firm for years, always keeping everything in order. Timothy pulled out his notebook, found her number, and dialed.

“Good afternoon, Patricia. Could you come to my office in ten minutes?”

A while later, Timothy welcomed Patricia into his office, where she delightedly sipped on her tea.

“Did you call me just for tea?” Timothy joked. “Can’t a boss treat a cleaner to a cup?”

“Oh come now, Timothy. What’s really on your mind?” she smiled.

“I have a question for you. Who knows our staff better than you?” he replied, preparing for their discussion. “What’s your take on the new cleaner?”

“She’s a good lass. Diligent. Life has given her a rough hand, but she persists. What’s the trouble?” Patricia inquired.

“I just saw her in tears. When I asked, she fled,” Timothy explained.

Patricia’s expression darkened. “She cried here. I told her not to mind those preened posh girls. They know nothing but cosmetics and attitude. Sophie takes everything too personally.”

“Did they upset her?” Timothy probed, intrigued. “How so?”

“Oh, it started after her arrival. Our ladies are well-groomed and stylish, while Sophie has her natural beauty. It’s envy, really. They despise her for not conforming to their standards,” Patricia elucidated. “Men are the same, really. If they sense vulnerability, they become cruel for sport.”

Timothy had little patience for workplace drama, yet determined to find out more, he pressed on. “What sort of teasing does she endure?”

“Comments about her appearance, her clothing. They call her ‘the queen of the gutter’ and ‘raggedy’, mock her lack of fancy shoes or labels. That’s the gist of it,” Patricia informed him.

Timothy was astonished. “But our team is educated; how can that be?”

“No error here. I warned Samantha to back off, but no, they find it too humorous,” Patricia replied, unflinchingly.

“And her circumstances, they can’t be that dire?” Timothy questioned.

“Oh, they are. Her mother is sick, and they refused disability aid. She can’t work, yet needs medication. Sophie does everything she can to support both of them. She’s clever, but has little time for her studies,” Patricia shared. Timothy wrestled with thoughts about such injustice still permeating society. He thanked Patricia for the insight and ushered her out while his mind lingered on the inequality among people.

After some contemplation, Timothy resolved to take action and alter the girl’s situation. He pulled out his wallet, emptied what he had, and headed down the corridor, where he caught sight of Sophie and Patricia tidying a large hall.

The cleaners had plenty to do, so Timothy stealthily slipped into their storage closet. Sophie’s bag immediately caught his attention. When he opened it, he discovered her wallet and intended to surreptitiously leave some money inside for her to buy new clothes. He feared that seeing the gesture outright might embarrass her.

As he prepared to tuck the bills away, he paused upon spotting a golden cross in the wallet that looked strikingly familiar. This was surely no stranger’s wallet! Timothy thought, his mind racing.

This cross was distinctive; it once belonged to his father. Memories from two decades earlier surged back into focus. Tim’s mother had fallen ill unexpectedly, her health rapidly deteriorating. Young Timothy, just ten at the time, watched his father, haggard and frantic, take his mother to doctors, but the treatments were inadequate.

One morning, as she prepared breakfast, Timothy sensed she was on the mend, but before they could even leave the house, she grew pale and collapsed. His father shouted, “Quick, to the car! We’re going to the hospital!”

Timothy grasped his mother’s hand in the car, tears silently streaming. His father drove with reckless urgency, and as they neared the city, disaster struck; the car collided with another during a dangerous overtaking maneuver.

His father believed they would make it, but the oncoming car’s driver panicked and veered off course. Timothy’s father cursed, narrowly missing the vehicle but causing a grave accident; their own car tumbled over.

His father rushed to the wreckage, glancing back at a girl of about six whose mother was gravely injured behind the wheel. Timothy saw the little girl, relatively unscathed, while her mother was terribly hurt. His father extricated the stranger, freezing in shock at the sight. Blood trickled down one side of the woman’s face, the other unmarked.

In a heart-wrenching moment, she clutched the cross around his father’s neck and murmured, “Please, save my daughter.”

His father recoiled. “I can’t,” he called out, “my wife is dying in the car!”

He hurried back to them, and they sped off once again. Timothy urged, “Dad, they need help! Someone will come, but we must get to the hospital faster.”

Timothy glimpsed his father’s neck; only a fragment of the worn chain remained. The situation was dire, and throughout the journey to the hospital, he imagined what might become of that woman and her girl.

Upon arrival, despair loomed. The doctor confirmed that his mother’s heart had failed, and she was gone. Life abruptly transformed into two chapters: “before” and “after.” Now, holding the cross glinting in his hand, he felt as though he had come full circle with memories that haunted him.

For years, Timothy and his father never spoke of that tragic day. He had initially sought closure through the news, but after numerous fruitless inquiries, he let that pursuit die.

Thirteen long years passed. Timothy’s father retired and spent his days traveling, often visiting his wife’s grave. He never remarried, despite the opportunities that arose.

Timothy flourished as a successful entrepreneur, well-respected in the city, a man striving to bury unpleasant memories so far that they faded entirely.

Suddenly, a voice cut through his thoughts: “Excuse me, what’s happening here?”

Timothy turned abruptly to find Sophie staring at him. In that moment, he realized how ridiculous he must have appeared, clutching the wallet.

“Sorry, Sophie. This may sound odd, but I intended to give you a bonus, but wasn’t sure how to do it discreetly.” He handed her the money, excused himself, and hastily left the closet.

At home, Timothy mulled over the day for several hours before deciding to speak to his father.

“Dad, we need to talk,” he began, taking a seat next to him.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Are you finally tying the knot?”

“No, Dad, not about that. Do you recall the day we rushed Mum to the hospital and faced the accident?”

His father frowned. “I thought you had forgotten.”

“No, Dad, I remember it all too clearly. We didn’t assist them, while Mum was in peril.”

“Indeed, Timothy. But we had no other option.”

“We didn’t even contact an ambulance for them, Dad. The girl who survived works for me now. We must help her.”

His father began to pace, then replied, “What makes you so sure this is her?”

Timothy recounted the events of the day, drawing from both memory and instinct.

“Do you think I haven’t sifted through that day in my mind? The woman had grave injuries. She couldn’t have survived.”

“She lived, but she’s disabled. Her daughter bears the burdens alone, and she is only nineteen. Dad, we must find a way to help.”

Alexander regarded his son. “Timothy, whether she is disabled or not—that’s merely history. We weren’t at fault. The inexperienced driver was to blame. We didn’t even make contact with their vehicle.”

“I understand, but, Dad, we have an opportunity to make amends now. Do you truly want to live a life shrouded in hatred?” Timothy stood, emotion swelling within him. “I’ve always admired you. Now, I feel let down, knowing you could set this right.”

He exited, battling a deep sadness. The father he once looked up to felt like a stranger in that moment.

When Sophie reentered his office, Timothy noticed her beauty for the first time. She truly was lovely, and her colleagues must have been jealous of her radiance.

“Please have a seat, Sophie,” Timothy invited. “We’ve much to discuss.”

Sophie glanced at him, apprehensive. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all, everything is fine. Just take a seat,” he reassured her, placing a comforting cup of coffee in front of her. “Sophie, why didn’t you pursue further education?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t manage it. Mum’s illness came first.”

“What’s the situation with your mother?” Timothy inquired.

“We were in an accident years ago. It hurt her spine,” Sophie began. “She used to feel pain after long walks or standing, but now it’s constant. The doctors can’t figure it out, and we can’t afford a quality clinic. I’m saving up. I work for you and in other roles to scrape together enough.”

Timothy went to the window, deep in thought. “So, that accident is at the core of your struggles?”

“I suppose you could say that,” she nodded.

Timothy was about to reply when his phone rang—it was his father. He excused himself, saying, “Just a moment, please.”

His father’s voice was urgent. “Timothy, I just met with her. We had a good discussion. I’m arranging for her treatment at our clinic. Our top specialists will help her. She’s truly a remarkable woman and seems to hold no resentment. I’ll explain everything later.”

Timothy turned to Sophie, a wide grin breaking out on his face. “Sophie, I want to genuinely assist you. I’ll sort out your education and provide financial support.”

“But I can’t study while Mum needs me…” she protested.

“Your mother has already been accepted into an excellent clinic. My father facilitated this,” he assured her, noticing her eyes widen in shock.

“But why? What’s the motive?” she asked, still bewildered.

Timothy rubbed his face in exasperation. “I don’t know how you’ll take this, but I must share it. I was in the car during that accident. My father was driving, while my mother lay dying in the backseat. We were desperate to get to the hospital.”

Sophie regarded him thoughtfully. “So that’s why you didn’t assist?”

“Yes, my father wasn’t in his right mind back then. It doesn’t absolve us, but now we have a chance to help. I’ll do everything I can to change your lives,” he implored, his voice heavy with emotion.

He offered various forms of assistance, but as Sophie lingered at the door, she turned around and said, “I see this has weighed heavily on you for years. Perhaps that will lighten your father’s burden as well. Mum was inexperienced behind the wheel, leading to the accident. She had just learned to drive. That day, she received distressing news about my father, prompting her to get behind the wheel; I was with her. If not for you, someone else might have startled her into a mishap.” With that, she left.

Timothy felt a sudden lightness, as if a great weight had been lifted. He had helped Sophie and her mother, and now his conscience felt unburdened.

Half a year later, Timothy sought a conversation with his father again.

“Dad, we need to talk,” he stated.

“What is it now?” his father asked with apprehension.

“This time, I’m truly getting married. Sophie is nearing the end of her studies, and we’re filing our notice.”

The entire office rejoiced at the wedding, led by Patricia. Sophie’s mother, after extensive rehabilitation, could now walk unaided and even dance a little at the celebrations.

The former office bullies swiftly averted their eyes from Sofia and the boss, extending their tacit congratulations.