“Your mother has passed, and crying won’t change that—so wipe your face, prepare dinner, and don’t look like a mourning child when my guests show up,” my husband told me only two hours after I returned

The festive atmosphere that had been chaotic just a moment ago was suddenly silenced as if someone had hit the mute button. One of Mark’s friends, bewildered, turned off the music. Everyone stood up with a clumsy and respectful attitude. Through the open front door walked a middle-aged man dressed in an impeccable suit, with an unmistakable aura of leadership. It was Mr. Harrison, the owner of the company where Mark worked, the highly respected president. Mark turned pale. He absolutely did not expect his top boss to come to his humble home. Besides, he hadn’t invited him because he didn’t consider himself at that level. Mr. Harrison entered with an impassive expression.

His eyes scanned the entire messy room filled with the remnants of the party. Then his gaze stopped precisely on my eyes, swollen and red. The silence that fell over the living room contrasted dramatically with the noise of the party just a few seconds before and it became suffocating. Mr. Harrison stopped at the threshold, emanating an aura of authority that would intimidate anyone. He wore a very expensive looking dark gray suit that contrasted with the casual shirts of Mark’s friends. His hair, beginning to gray, was neatly combed back, and his penetrating gaze swept the room as if conducting a surprise inspection of a troubled branch office.

There was no smile on his face, only a firm jaw and an unreadable expression. Mark’s body, which just a moment ago had stood tall with an arrogant chin, now seemed to shrink. His face, previously flushed with anger towards me or laughter with his friends, had turned pale as paper. Cold sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his hand, holding a glass, trembled so violently that he spilled some of its contents. Mark hurriedly placed the glass on a nearby table with a movement so clumsy he almost knocked it over. He nervously adjusted the collar of his shirt, trying to gather the fragments of his shattered confidence.

With hasty and somewhat faltering steps, Mark approached Mr. Harrison. He gave a slight nod, an exaggerated and fawning gesture of respect. His voice cracked as he addressed his supreme boss. Mark expressed how surprised and honored he was that Mr. Harrison would visit his humble abode. He apologized for not sending a formal invitation, explaining that it was a small celebration with his department team and that he hadn’t dared to bother Mr. Harrison with his valuable time. Mark continued to talk, tripping over his words. Honeyed words poured out of his mouth incessantly, as if trying to hide the panic that had seized him. He invited Mr. Harrison to come in.

Offering him the most comfortable seat on the sofa, the same one Jessica had occupied earlier. But Mr. Harrison did not immediately respond to Mark’s warm welcome. He only nodded very slowly without taking his scrutinizing gaze off him. Mr. Harrison entered slowly. His gleaming shoes made a rhythmic sound on the tiled floor. The other guests, Mark’s colleagues, automatically moved aside to let him pass. They stood rigid as statues, afraid of making the slightest mistake in front of the owner of the company, who held their destinies in his hands. Jessica, who had been sitting like a queen on the main sofa, quickly stood up, fixed her hair and clothes, and put on her sweetest smile, hoping to attract the president’s attention.

Jessica even tugged slightly at Mark’s arm, signaling him to introduce her to Mr. Harrison. But Mr. Harrison seemed not to see them. His gaze focused instead on the tacky party decorations, the dirty dishes scattered about, and the food scraps that had not yet been cleaned up. Mark felt even more bewildered by Mr. Harrison’s cold reaction. He tried to break the ice by offering him drinks and food. He shouted my name, but this time not with the harsh voice from before, but in a softly feigned tone, yet laden with pressure. He asked me to quickly bring a hot drink for Mr. Harrison. Perhaps the best tea or coffee we had.