Émilie burst into mocking laughter, arms crossed. “You’d better, yes. This is my future husband’s company, not a center for poor people. Get out of here, old witch.”
The old woman sighed and shook her head. “You have a hard heart, my daughter. I wonder what kind of man would want to marry you.”
Émilie’s eyes widened in shock at her words. Her anger rose even more.
“You crazy old woman! You have no right to speak to me like that. Get out before I have security throw you out.”
The old woman slowly stood up, her hands trembling. She said nothing more. She quietly left the office, her eyes misty.
A few minutes later, Mireille returned with a bag of food in her hand. She entered with a smile, eager to give Mama what she had bought. But as she approached the gate, she stopped short. The old woman was there, standing in front of the gate, her face sad.
“Mama, what are you doing out here?” Mireille asked, her voice full of concern.
The old woman sighed. “My daughter, don’t be upset. A lady came. She told me to leave. She called me a filthy poor woman. She said I had no business being here.”
Mireille felt her heart leap. She clenched her fists. “Who dared?”
The old woman hesitated, then whispered, “She said she is the future wife of the boss. Her name is Émilie.”
At once, Mireille’s blood boiled. She stormed back inside, her eyes blazing with anger.
Émilie was still there, sitting like a queen, looking at her nails. Mireille walked straight toward her.
“Émilie, was it you?”
Émilie looked up with a mocking smile. “Oh, the little cleaner is back. What do you want?”
Mireille was trembling with rage. “Émilie, Mama… how dare you treat my mother like that? Who do you think you are to insult an old woman?”
Émilie burst into laughter. “Your mother? That beggar? I told Cyril not to hire you. You do not even deserve to be here.”
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