“Wow! You’re breastfeeding at the company annual party?”
In a corner of the department’s New Year’s Eve dinner, I had just pulled up my nursing cover when she suddenly yanked it away.
A few male colleagues at the main table snickered under their breath.
“Who knew you were so shameless?”
“No wonder you came back from maternity leave and still managed to stay an executive.”
I froze as memories came rushing back.
In my previous life, she had done the same thing, laughing as she let the entire department see me in my disheveled state, clothes askew.
She leaned close to my ear, her voice cloyingly sweet. “We’re all colleagues. What’s the big deal?”
After that, she went even further. She deliberately brought clients into the nursing room while I was pumping, and secretly stole the scarf I used to cover milk stains when I gave my post-maternity presentation.
“With a baby, you have too many worries. How can you do your job properly?”
“Why not quit and go home to nurse your baby? You can give me your position.”
A year of humiliation drove me over the edge, and I eventually jumped to my death.
When I opened my eyes again, that familiar hand was reaching toward me once more.
