I got sacked because of a scheming flatterer, but then fate handed me a real gift. I found true love.
It all started with something small, seemingly unimportant, but it turned my life upside down. I worked in the logistics department of a big London firm, and though Alice and I were colleagues, we didn’t work closely together. She was in the next office but somehow always managed to be nearby. From day one, there was something cloying about her—unnatural. Too many “accidental” run-ins by the water cooler, forced small talk, exaggerated giggles at everything. At first, I thought she was just overly friendly. Then it became clear: she was up to something. I kept my distance, stayed polite. Until the day she cornered me by the coffee machine and planted a kiss on my cheek. “For luck,” she whispered, holding my gaze. It made my skin crawl. Instinctively, I shoved her away—too hard, too rough. She staggered. And of course, she never forgave me.
I thought it would blow over. The next day, the rumours started. Whispers behind my back, sideways glances. Then the summons to the boss’s office. No explanations, no chance to defend myself—just gone. Official reason? “Breach of workplace conduct, conflicts with staff, inappropriate behaviour.” Sexual harassment. My protests meant nothing. The boss listened silently, then said, “You can sue, but you’ll waste your time. Plenty of witnesses.” No doubt handpicked by Alice. My reputation was wrecked overnight. No job, no prospects. Word spread fast—soon, no one in the industry would even interview me. It wasn’t just a setup. It was a betrayal.
But I refused to wallow. Self-pity would’ve drowned me. One evening, on the balcony of my rented flat, I grabbed a notebook and wrote a list of things I’d always wanted to do but never got round to. Some wild, some simple, one nearly forgotten: learn to dance. Always fancied picking up salsa and bachata but never had the time. Now I did.
I signed up for Latin dance classes. The course didn’t cost much, and I needed to feel alive again. From the first lesson, I knew I’d made the right call. But that wasn’t the surprise. The instructor was Emily—not classically beautiful, but radiant, magnetic. She wasn’t flirty, just warm, confident. I fell hard. Not out of loneliness or desperation. Just… suddenly, I knew. She was the one.
I kept quiet. Then one evening after class, she asked if I fancied grabbing coffee. My chest tightened. We went. We talked. Then came everything—love, like in the films. Emily admitted she’d felt it too, straight away. She’d been nervous to act but sensed I was ready.
Now we’re together. I’m alive again. We’re planning to open our own dance studio. And we’re expecting our first child—yes, Emily’s pregnant. She didn’t just pull me out of the pit. She gave me a new life.
And if Alice hadn’t kissed me, if I hadn’t been sacked—I’d never have walked into that dance studio. Never met Emily. Never become who I am now.
Sometimes fate tears your world apart just to hand you the pieces of something real.
