By Patricia Peterson
Emma* stood in my office doorway in the same tacky black dress she had worn for three days. Many washings had given it a gray cast, and there was a rather large mend on the front left-hand side of the skirt. Other older women might wear such a dress while housecleaning or gardening, but to work in an office? I cringed as I pondered what the other employees must be thinking. Disconnected, angry thoughts raced through my mind. Undoubtedly she’s wearing this dress to embarrass me before my coworkers. It’s her plot to gather sympathy. So this is how she repays me for getting her a part-time job.
The problem began after Bill and I had returned from our honeymoon. His mother, Emma, began calling incessantly throughout the day to talk to Bill. The calls began early in the morning—sometimes before we woke up—and continued until
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