Substitutee Marriage: Fallingg For My Ugly Wifee

Ignoring the myriad judgments held within those gazes, Millie held her head high and proceeded confidently to her designated seat.

She decided that the opinions of others were inconsequential and held no power to sway her.

“Finally, you grace us with your presence.” Dottie’s voice carried a hushed undertone, her eyes shadowed by the weight of dark circles.

Dottie had been weathering a storm of hardships, courtesy of Emerie’s exacting demands. The load of tasks and the blame for designs gone awry had taken their toll, leading her to burn the midnight oil night after night.

The crosshairs of Nancy and Emerie were unmistakably fixed upon her, leaving the rest in a state of trepidation when it came to engaging with her. The passage of these days had cast a pall of misery over her.

The instant Millie settled into her seat, a discernible click resounded through the air.

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The realization dawned swiftly as her chair succumbed to disrepair!

Meeting the unforgiving floor, her voice escaped in an involuntary scream.

“Are you alright?” Dottie’s startlement gave way to immediate action as she rushed to Millie’s aid, extending her hand to help her rise.

Emerie stifled a laugh behind her hand, her amusement evident even as she sought to conceal it.

“Seems someone’s packed on some pounds during their brief absence from work,” Emerie quipped with a mischievous glint.

At the break of dawn, an edict from Nancy landed squarely in her hands, a directive to make Millie’s return to the fold an arduous endeavor.

Chuckles bubbled from those aligned with Nancy’s faction, their laughter joining the chorus of complicity.

Wincing in discomfort, Millie rose to her feet, one of her palms bearing the evidence of abrasions.

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Upon closer inspection, Millie identified a fracture running through the chair’s center. An irony surfaced- this very chair, procured from a reputable manufacturer, boasted a robustness that could withstand the weight of a 300-pound person without faltering.

Witnessing the punctured state of Millie’s palm, a pang of empathy surged within Dottie. Her countenance flushed with a mix of sympathy and ire, she cast a pointed look in Emerie’s direction, her words a confidential murmur.

“I was tardy this morning. It’s clear someone deliberately sabotaged your chair and bided their time until you took your seat. Their audacity knows no bounds. You’re Mrs. Thomas, yet they muster the audacity to subject you to such bullying,” Dottie confided, her words brimming with indignation.

“I’ll make my way to the restroom,” Millie declared calmly.

Millie wasn’t one to be fooled easily; she discerned the deliberate nature of the chair’s damage. Gently pushing Dottie aside, she headed for the bathroom, cleansing the residual dust from her hands with a swift wash.

Having tended to her immediate hygiene needs, Millie ventured to a stall for a necessary change, a consequence of the morning’s arrival of her period.

Outside the closed confines of the stall, an unexpected incident unfolded-a surreptitious hand reached for the hand sanitizer, whose contents promptly emptied beyond the stall door.

Emerging from the stall, Millie’s steps faltered as her footing betrayed her on the now slippery surface, causing her to plummet to the floor once again.

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