With mountains of papers on my desk and not enough time to finish everything in time, that morning felt like any other. My boss came into the office and introduced me to the new employee who was supposed to assist, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. I was furious when he said “Hello” and held out his hand. The man who destroyed my life was my new coworker.
I was rushing as usual to get to work in time, something I’ve been failing at more lately. I noticed my daughter Sophie doing the dishes while I put on a rumpled shirt that I had neglected to iron.
Although I was responsible for what she did, I hardly ever completed all of the household chores. She declined my offer to prepare her breakfast. I said, “At least let me drop you off at school,” but she gave me a stern no.
Her lack of concern for me after my wife died and the overwhelming amount of housework she took on left me feeling like a bad father. Sophie found it difficult to strike a balance between her youth and the expectations placed on her as a teenager who needed to live her own life, free from duties like doing the laundry and running errands.
My boss welcomed me and informed me that there was a new hire when I arrived at the office, barely on time. I was relieved. “At last, some assistance,” I told myself.
But my entire world fell apart when the new coworker showed up.
“Why are you in this place? You were hired at my place of employment out of all the places in town. I lost my temper.
The new coworker, Mark, remained silent.
He was responsible for my wife Kira’s death in a car accident a few years ago. I detested him and held him responsible for my unsuccessful life.
Mark looked down and said he was sorry. “I never intended to hurt anyone. After that terrible night, I feel like I’m barely alive.
“Hey, I don’t need your excuses. I said, “They won’t give my wife back,” and went back to the stacks of papers I had to finish. I couldn’t tolerate that man’s presence, much less work in the same office as him, and I didn’t need his assistance.
Mark came up to me the next day and said, “I understand your suffering.”
My hand was clenched into a fist, shaking with rage, and I said, “You know nothing.”
“I lost my whole family that night when you lost your wife,” he remarked. He said, in agony and guilt, “My wife had a complicated pregnancy, and I was driving fast, rushing to take her to the hospital, but neither she nor the baby made it.”
I could understand him in my heart. I would probably drive that fast myself if I were him and Sophie and Kira’s lives were on the line.
I didn’t want anything to do with him, anyway.
My boss came into the office that day and put even more work on my desk. “Be sure to complete these by this evening,” he advised. I simply nodded and got to work.
Then my phone started buzzing. My mom was the one. Will you be attending Sophie’s debate? If you don’t make it again, she would be devastated,” she said.
I knew I wouldn’t, unfortunately.
“Go to your daughter’s debate,” said my new coworker, who I held responsible for my wife’s death. You’ll arrive just in time if you depart now. Let me do the work.
I declined. “You can’t save the dead, but it’s never too late to save the living,” he said, looking me in the eyes.
His statements seemed genuine. Perhaps it was time for me to get over my anger. Mark truly apologized. He also lost the people he cared about the most.
Feeling relieved that I had finally let go of the resentments I had been harboring for so long, I simply nodded and walked out of the office.
Sophie’s eyes wandered through the audience as she took the stage. She grinned when she saw me there, and it gave me hope that a broken connection could be reestablished.
