I stood there, swallowing every ounce of shame he piled on me, nodding as if I deserved all of it. His voice got louder, sharper, as if this tiny scratch proved everything he’d ever wanted to say about my character. I was already reaching for my wallet in my mind, calculating the repair costs, wondering how long this story would haunt the office.
Then my coworker strolled past, barely slowing down, and dropped the quiet bomb: he reminded my boss this was the company car he himself had scratched last week. The silence hit harder than the yelling. Color drained from my anger and flooded into his face. He muttered, turned away, and fled inside. In that moment, the power shifted. I didn’t need to say a word; his hypocrisy had done all the talking.
