Ludmila Sergeyevna, you do understand that in today’s world, it’s necessary to prioritize young specialists?” the HR manager said in a tone that was meant to sound amiable but came off as falsely sweet fluff.
“And you, Elena Petrovna, have apparently completely erased from memory how you yourself once started your path?” I responded calmly but with a touch of irony, looking straight into the eyes of my former intern who had now taken over as the manager.
I had dedicated fifteen long years to this company, and here was my reward—a folder with termination documents and the saccharine smile of someone I had once trained in the basics of the profession. How ironic fate can be! Elena had joined our team young and inexperienced, confusing debits with credits at every turn. Back then, I took her under my wing, and we stayed up late night after night, sorting through complex accounting issues.
“You see, the company has decided to move towards rejuvenating the team,” Lena carefully avoided my gaze. “New technologies require a fresh approach…”
“Oh yes, how could I forget! Especially ‘fresh’ was your idea to write off the bonus fund on fictitious expenses. Who then covered your… insufficient awareness?” I said, looking her straight in the eyes.
Her face instantly darkened. Of course, she remembered. And how I took all the responsibility on myself, saving her from being fired. But now, those memories seemed to have lost their significance.
I walked home, though I usually preferred driving. I needed to clear my head, gather my thoughts. The autumn wind rustled the yellow leaves as if mocking my disarray. Fifty-two years old—has that age now become considered advanced? When did that happen?
My phone in my purse vibrated. It was Olya, my daughter, who always sensed when I needed support.
“Mom, where are you? I stopped by your office, but they said…” she began, but I interrupted her.
“Everything is fine, sweetheart. I just decided to take a walk.”
“In this cold?” her voice clearly expressed distrust. “Wait, I’m coming to pick you up.”
Ten minutes later, Olya’s silver Honda stopped beside me. She jumped out of the car, hugged me, and only then did I feel my lips treacherously tremble.
“Tell me,” she demanded, dragging me into the nearest café.
Over a cup of hot cocoa, the story poured out on its own. Olya listened attentively, frowning, sometimes clenching her fists—just like me in my youth, just as passionate and caring.
“You know what?” she suddenly declared. “Maybe it’s even for the best.”
“What could possibly be good here?” I smiled sadly.
“First, you can finally rest. How many years have you not taken a vacation? Three? Four? And secondly…” she smiled conspiratorially, “I have some news.”
The next month flashed by like a fog. I automatically sent out resumes, attended interviews where I politely smiled and received standard promises of a callback. But the main thing was different: Olya had started dating a man. Not just any man, but Andrey Viktorovich Savelyev, the CEO of my former company.
“Mom, just don’t make that face,” Olya laughed, telling me about her romance. “We met by chance in that very café where I took shelter from the rain.”
“And he immediately fell in love with my beautiful daughter,” I tried to joke, though inside everything tightened.
“Imagine, he didn’t even know I was a programmer! Thought I was a model or actress.”
I looked at my daughter and saw myself in her years—just as bright, confident. Only my path was different. I built my career step by step, without sudden rises or falls. And now…
“He wants to marry me,” Olya confessed one evening quietly.
The cup of tea hung in the air.
“What?!”
“Marry, mom. He says he fell in love like a boy and doesn’t want to waste a second.”
A strange thought flashed through my mind: “Does he know that his bride is the daughter of that very ‘elderly’ employee?” But I remained silent. Now was not the time for my grievances.
“Are you… are you sure?” I asked cautiously.
“Absolutely,” Olya glowed with happiness. “You know, he’s not at all as he seems in the office. He’s kind, attentive, and…” she laughed, “completely hopeless in the kitchen. Imagine, yesterday he tried to make me breakfast and almost set the kitchen on fire!”
I looked at her happy face and understood: my little girl had grown up. Maybe this wedding was not just a whim of fate but something more. Something that would change not only her life but also mine.
However, then I didn’t even suspect how right I would turn out to be.
The wedding was modest but elegant—just like my future son-in-law. I watched as Andrey looked at Olya, and knew: my daughter had made the right choice. His eyes showed that sincere adoration that money can’t buy.
After the formal part, when the guests had dispersed around the cozy restaurant courtyard, Andrey unexpectedly approached and sat down at my table.
“Ludmila Sergeyevna, may I ask a personal question?” he began, looking straight into my eyes.
“Of course,” I answered, mentally noting how strange this formal address sounded from a man who was now my son-in-law.
“Olya mentioned you worked at my company…” he began, slightly hesitating.
I froze for a moment. I had anticipated this moment but still hoped it would not come so soon.
“Yes, fifteen years,” my voice remained even, although inside a nerve quivered.
“And… what happened? Why did you decide to leave?”
“Oh,” I bitterly smiled, “you see, I turned out to be ‘not modern enough’ for new corporate trends.”
Andrey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“I’m sorry, what exactly do you mean?” he asked, clearly puzzled.
Then I told him everything: about that conversation with Elena, about the cold glances from young colleagues, about how Sergey Nikolayevich, barely waiting for my departure, took over my office and first got rid of my favorite violets.
Andrey’s face grew darker with every word I spoke.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I always considered my company free from discrimination. Seems I trusted people too much, whom I appointed to key positions…”
A week later, the phone rang while I was sorting through old documents.
“Ludmila Sergeyevna,” Andrey’s voice was decisive, “I have a business proposal for you. I need a new head of the finance department.”
“But…” I blinked in confusion, “isn’t that position filled?”
“Not anymore,” he cut off. “I conducted an internal audit and discovered several… interesting things. For example, those very bonus funds that regularly disappeared without explanation. Unfortunately, Elena Petrovna turned out to be not as professional as it seemed.”
I silently digested the heard.
“You know the company structure well,” he continued. “Your experience is invaluable. And most importantly, you know how to teach others. Think about it.”
“And how will the team react?” I couldn’t help asking, remembering the mocking glances from former colleagues.
“That’s your task as a manager,” he parried. “You decide who is worthy of working in your team.”
My first day at the new position brought many surprises. One of them was Elena Petrovna herself, who, learning of my appointment, decided to personally “congratulate” me.
“Ludmila Sergeyevna!” her tone oozed honey, but her eyes remained cold. “What a pleasant coincidence! I just wanted to wish you success!”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought I was ‘too old’ for this company.”
Her face paled.
“What are you… it was just a misunderstanding…” she tried to justify herself.
“Sit down, Elena,” I said dryly. “Let’s talk about some ‘misunderstandings.’ For example, those cases when you ‘accidentally’ forgot to mention the bonuses of certain employees in reports.”
She swallowed convulsively.
“I… I can explain everything…”
“Of course, you can. And you will do so in writing. With a detailed analysis of all operations for the last three years. By tomorrow morning.”
“But that’s impossible!” she protested.
“For such a promising specialist as you, it should be quite simple,” I smiled, enjoying her discomfort.
Sergey Nikolayevich appeared next. He entered my office without knocking, assuming that old privileges still applied.
“Ludmila Sergeyevna! What a surprise!” his smile did not reach his eyes. “I just wanted to discuss an idea…”
“Your transfer to the statistics department?” I interrupted him. “Great idea. Especially considering how you handle numbers. You know, for someone who was so eager to take my place, your reports last month look… hmm, rather unconvincing.”
“But allow me to explain,” Sergey attempted.
“I will not allow,” I coldly interrupted him, pulling out a folder with documents. “Here, here, and here—gross errors in calculations. And this…” I tossed another sheet on the table. “Your report on the need to cut expenses on employee training. Very instructive reading, especially considering that half of the data in it is absolutely fabricated.”
He heavily sat down on a chair, resting his hands on the edge of the table.
“Did you… did you orchestrate all this?” his voice trembled.
“Oh no,” I shook my head. “This is exclusively your merit. I just carefully study the papers. Such an old-fashioned habit, which, apparently, is considered outdated in modern realities.”
The young specialists turned out to be the most amusing, especially those three who regularly discussed my years behind the closed doors of the smoking room.
“So,” I began, gathering them in the conference room, “since you’re so eager for innovation, I have a special assignment for you. You need to develop a new system for accounting international transactions. Deadline— a week.”
“A week?!” Marina, the most active of them, almost jumped. “That’s impossible!”
“Why? You’re young, full of energy, and possess all the advanced technologies. Or do you need help from someone more experienced?”
They exchanged glances, understanding that the game was over.
“Ludmila Sergeyevna,” Dima, the most quick-witted of the group, started, “maybe you could at least guide us a bit?”
“Of course. But first, I want to hear your ideas. And remember: age is not a weakness but accumulated experience, which cannot be replaced by any online course or book.”
In the evening, I was left alone in the office. It had long been dark outside, but I didn’t want to leave. I looked at the city lights and reflected on how quickly life could change. Just a month ago, I felt thrown to the curb, and now…
“Mom?” Olya appeared in the doorway, looking concerned. “What are you doing here in the dark?”
“Thinking,” I answered, turning to her.
“About revenge?” she asked, approaching closer and hugging my shoulders.
“You know,” I mused, twirling a pencil in my hands, “at first, yes, revenge was the only thought. I wanted to prove to them all… Now, though, I realize: it’s more important to create a team where everyone respects each other regardless of age.”
“And what about Elena and her reports? And Sergey?” she inquired.
“It’s not revenge, dear,” I gently replied. “It’s a lesson. Sometimes people need to be reminded that all actions have consequences. Professionalism isn’t measured by the number of years lived.”
Olya sat on the edge of the table:
“Andrey said yesterday that the company is working like clockwork. And that’s thanks to you.”
“Really?” I was surprised.
“Yes. And he added that some things need to be changed not because they’re ‘outdated,’ but because people forget their true value.”
I looked at my daughter and realized: she was right. Sometimes it’s necessary to lose something to gain more. What matters is not the position or power but the ability to stay true to yourself, even when fate presents unexpected twists.
“Shall we go home?” Olya suggested, taking my hand. “Andrey cooked today.”
“Did he learn?” I laughed.
“Well, at least now he knows where the stove is,” she winked.
We stepped out into the evening coolness. The wind, like back then, played with the fallen leaves, but now it seemed not mockery, but a reminder: everything changes. The main thing is to stay true to oneself and one’s principles.
And revenge… Well, perhaps the best revenge is not the humiliation of those who underestimated you, but their transformation into professionals. Even if it requires being stricter than you’d like. In the end, now it’s not just a privilege, but a responsibility.
Spring came suddenly, just like the changes in my life. Flowers bloomed outside the window—a gift from our Japanese partners, and violets reappeared in my office. This time, they were brought by employees—some out of guilt, some out of genuine respect.
“Ludmila Sergeyevna,” Marina cautiously peeked into my office. “May I come in?”
“Come in,” I invited her, setting aside another report.
“Remember that project on international transactions?” she began, clearly embarrassed.
How could I not remember! Their first serious challenge after my return.
“We’ve decided with the guys… maybe it’s worth refining? We have new ideas, but we need your experience to avoid mistakes.”
I smiled. This was what I had striven for. Not fear, not servility, but a harmonious combination of initiative and respect for knowledge.
“Mom, are you crazy?” Olya burst into my office, always emotional and decisive. “Why are you still working? It’s already nine in the evening!”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I guiltily glanced at the clock. “Got caught up in a new project…”
“You always have a new project!” She flopped into a chair. “You know what Elena Petrovna told me today?”
I tensed. After the story with the documents, Elena had temporarily quieted down, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever.
“She said ‘thank you,'” Olya triumphantly announced. “Can you believe it? She admitted she had never realized the importance of accuracy in work until you forced her to rethink her approach.”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow, surprised, looking at my daughter.
“Moreover, she confessed that it was precisely thanks to your attention that she found serious inaccuracies in last year’s reports. Mom, you saved the company from a very large fine.”
The conference hall was packed. The quarterly meeting always attracted attention, especially when there was something to discuss.
“Colleagues,” I began, scanning the audience, “in the last six months, our department has shown record results in the company’s history.”
A murmur of approval ran through the hall.
“And it’s not my personal achievement,” I continued, pausing slightly. “It’s the achievement of each of you. Those who dared to admit their mistakes and started learning from scratch.”
My gaze lingered on Elena, who sat in the front row, focused on making notes in her notebook. Next to her—Sergey, now more collected and attentive. In his statistics department, things really started to improve: it turned out that without internal intrigues, he could effectively work with numbers.
“You know,” I suddenly deviated from the prepared speech, “I used to think that the main thing in work was the result. Then I realized that what’s most important is fairness. And now I understand: the most valuable thing is people. Their development, their ability to change and grow.”
The hall fell silent. Even the most active young specialists froze, listening intently to every word.
“We all make mistakes. And I made them too, when I returned. I wanted to teach those who betrayed me a lesson… But you know what? Revenge is a poor teacher. But experience, respect, and the willingness to learn from each other—that’s what really works.”
After the meeting, Elena approached me. She looked hesitant.
“Ludmila Sergeyevna, can we talk?” she asked.
We stepped into the quiet garden behind the office building.
“I need to apologize,” she began, lowering her eyes. “That firing… it was my idea. Back then, I was convinced that youth was the main trump card, and experience could be replaced by enthusiasm.”
“And what do you think now?” I asked gently, looking at her.
“Now?” She smiled sadly. “Now I understand how deeply I was mistaken. And… thank you. For teaching me to see work through different eyes.”
In the evening, Olya, Andrey, and I met in our favorite café—the very one where a key turn in this story once occurred.
“You know, Mom,” Olya mused, stirring her coffee, “you changed not only the company but all of us. People.”
“Rather, they changed themselves,” I replied, shrugging. “Sometimes people just need a push for that.”
“And a good mentor,” Andrey added. “By the way, the board of directors is considering the possibility of creating a corporate university. What do you think, can you take on another role?”
I laughed:
“At my age?”
“Exactly for that reason,” he said seriously. “Experience can’t be bought or downloaded from the Internet. It can only be passed on. And you know how to do it better than anyone else.”
Outside, the spring evening was fading, and I reflected on how life sometimes presents unexpected gifts. Sometimes you need to experience a fall to soar higher. To lose something to gain more. And to forgive, to move forward.
“Know what?” I raised a cup of tea. “Let’s toast to changes. To the fact that they happen just when needed. And to the fact that age is not a limitation, but an advantage. The advantage of being wiser, stronger, and more humane.”
“And to the violets!” Olya added, raising her glass.
“And to the violets,” I agreed, remembering everything that connected me with this place.
Sometimes the sweetest victory is not revenge, but the ability to rise above the situation and make the world a bit better. Even if it seems you’re too old for such changes. Because age is not a barrier, but an opportunity to become the person others see in you.