A week after my wedding and a blissful honeymoon, I headed back to the office feeling like I was on top of the world. I was ready to get back into my routine and start a new chapter. Instead, I left that building unemployed—fired for a reason I never dreamed could cost me everything.
People say your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. For me, it truly was. But only seven days later, everything unraveled.
I’m Suzanna. I’m 30 years old, and until recently, I thought my life was set. I worked at Henderson Marketing in downtown Oakridge. I kept to myself, did my job well, and went home. My life was simple, orderly, and safe.
Apparently, though, that wasn’t enough for my employer.
I had my reasons for staying private at work. At my last job in Lakeview, I made the mistake of being too friendly and open. I chatted with coworkers about my weekends, shared my commute route, and even mentioned where I lived. That’s when things went wrong.
A man started following me. Every night on the train, he was there—staring, lingering. He knew my schedule better than I did.
The police couldn’t do much without hard proof, so I did the only thing I could. I quit, moved to Oakridge, bought an old Honda with squeaky brakes, and started fresh at Henderson Marketing.
“Why are you so quiet?” my cubicle neighbor Macy would ask, leaning over with her bouncy red curls. “Don’t you want to grab lunch with us? We’re going to that new place on Fifth Street.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I’d answer, eyes on my computer.
“So what do you do for fun? Got a boyfriend? Any hobbies?”
I’d deflect. “Speaking of lunch, did you finish the Morrison account review? The deadline’s tomorrow.”
She’d sigh. “Come on, Suzanna! We don’t bite. Why act like we’re contagious?”
“I just keep work and personal life separate.”
“That’s not normal, you know. Most people like having friends at work. Seriously—do you even have friends? Where do you live? I never see you around town.”
I’d steer the conversation elsewhere: “Have you checked the quarterly reports? I think something’s off.”
Macy would roll her eyes. “You’re impossible.” But that never stopped her from prying.
I knew better. Trust had cost me my peace once before—I wasn’t repeating that mistake.
Three months ago, George, my boyfriend of four years, proposed. He knew about my past and respected my need for boundaries.
We had a small, beautiful wedding in his grandmother’s garden in Cedar Pines—just us and 12 close college friends.
“Sure you don’t want to invite anyone from work?” George asked the night before, adjusting his tie in the hotel mirror. “You spend eight hours a day with them.”
“Absolutely sure,” I said, fixing my veil. “If I invite one, I’d have to invite everyone. And honestly, I don’t want them there. This is about us, not them.”
“But won’t they feel left out?”
“They’ll survive. Besides, they already have plenty to gossip about.”
He kissed my forehead. “Whatever makes you happy.”
The ceremony was everything I dreamed—fairy lights strung between oak trees, my best friend Sarah snapping photos, and George watching me like I was the only person in the world.
For a week in Hawaii afterward, I felt weightless.
But reality has a way of snapping you back hard.
On my first day back, George teased, “Welcome back, Mrs. Johnson!”
“It’s still Suzanna at work,” I said with a laugh, slipping my wedding ring into my jewelry box. It was too gorgeous—and too likely to attract questions—to wear at the office. “Some things never change.”
How wrong I was.
When I walked into Henderson Marketing, something felt off. People stared. I heard whispers slicing through the air.
“Is that her?”
“Can you believe it?”
“So secretive.”
“Selfish!”
Before I even reached my desk, Janet from accounting stopped me. “Mrs. Wiggins wants to see you. Now.”
My stomach knotted. Mrs. Wiggins didn’t summon people on Monday mornings unless it was serious.
Her office smelled faintly of stale coffee. She didn’t look up when I knocked.
“Sit down, Suzanna.”
I perched on the edge of the chair. “Is everything okay? Did I miss something while I was gone?”
She finally looked up. “You got married?”
“H-how did you…?”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes. I used my vacation time for the honeymoon and made sure all my projects were handled before I left—”
“Without telling anyone.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry?”
She leaned back. “Henderson Marketing is a family. We celebrate together. We share our lives.”
“With all due respect, I don’t see how my personal life affects my work. My performance reviews have been excellent.”
She gave a short laugh. “This isn’t about performance. This is about loyalty and trust. You’re fired.”
It took a moment for the words to land.
“Excuse me?”
“You excluded your colleagues from a major life event. That tells me where your priorities are.”
“My wedding was private. I invited the people most important to me.”
“And not a single person from here.” She pushed an envelope toward me. “Final paycheck. Clear your desk.”
“This is illegal—you can’t fire me for not inviting coworkers to my wedding. That’s personal discrimination.”
“I can fire you for refusing to integrate into company culture. For being antisocial and creating a hostile work environment.”
“Hostile? I’m professional and courteous. I’ve never been late or missed a deadline.”
“But you don’t participate. You’re a ghost here. People reached out to you, and you shut them out.”
“So because I value my privacy after being stalked at my last job, I’m defective?”
“Your sob story doesn’t excuse your behavior. Security will escort you if needed.”
I walked out clutching the envelope. The room had gone silent; everyone watched me.
Macy’s voice cut through the quiet. “Look who’s finally getting what she deserves!”
I packed my fern, the photo of my late parents, and my coffee mug.
“You think you’re too good for us,” Macy said loudly.
“My problem, Macy, is I trusted before and paid the price. I thought my privacy was my right, not a crime.”
“Oh, please! You’re just antisocial.”
“And you’re just nosy. How did you even know I got married?”
Her smirk widened. “Your friend posted gorgeous pictures on Instagram. Took me five minutes to find them.”
“You went looking for my private life?”
“I was curious. Sue me.”
“No, Macy. I’ll just leave—like you all wanted.”
That evening, George found me at the kitchen table, pale and quiet.
“They fired you for getting married?”
“For not inviting them. Apparently, I’m antisocial and disloyal.”
“You’re the most loyal person I know. You’re just protecting yourself.”
“What am I going to do? We need my income.”
He was thoughtful. “Remember before all this? The toys you made for your nieces, the quilts for friends?”
“That’s a hobby, not a career.”
“Says who? Maybe this is your chance to bet on yourself.”
“That’s risky.”
“So is working for people who treat privacy like a flaw.”
Three months later, I was in my home studio, surrounded by fabric and teddy bears. My business, Suzanna’s Handmade Toys & Quilts, had five employees. All of them understood that quality work matters more than office gossip.
Last week, Sarah called, laughing.
“Henderson Marketing is going viral for their discriminatory firings! Mrs. Wiggins’ little policy backfired—three employees quit, and clients pulled their accounts.”
“Good,” I said, and meant it.
The right people never punish you for setting boundaries. They don’t demand your private life as proof of loyalty. And sometimes, losing a job for all the wrong reasons leads you exactly where you belong.