FIRED FOR JUSTICE
1500 Words
ELSA — POV (Third Person)
Elsa moved between racks of shimmering dresses with the easy confidence of someone who belonged among colors and fabrics. She had a smile that seemed permanent, a sunshine-bright expression she had become famous for in the small boutique where she worked. People said she made shopping feel like therapy—cheap therapy. She liked that. It made her feel useful.
She was adjusting a mannequin’s sleeve when she heard a soft voice behind her.
“Hello, miss… can you help me pick a dress?”
Elsa spun around immediately. “Of course, ma’am. My pleasure.” She grinned, brushing a strand of braids behind her ear. “My name is Elsa, but you can call me Sunshine. Everyone does.”
The woman smiled weakly. “Sunshine. That suits you.”
It always made Elsa warm inside when people said that. She took pride in being someone who made others feel better—even on days she didn’t feel that great herself.
She guided the woman toward the wedding section, but before they could take three steps, the boutique door burst open. A tall man stormed inside, dragging a trembling woman behind him like a handbag he didn’t care for.
Elsa froze.
Everything in her stilled—the music, the chatter, even her heartbeat.
“Pick a dress,” the man barked. “And do it fast.”
Her smile vanished like it had never existed. A slow fire lit behind her eyes.
“Sir,” she said firmly, stepping slightly in front of the woman. “Relax. Let her breathe.”
His glare could have burned the racks down, but Elsa held her ground. She gently placed a hand on the woman’s back, guiding her away from him.
Up close, the lady looked worse—eyes swollen, cheeks stained with old tears, hands shaking so badly she could barely touch the fabric.
Elsa’s voice softened. “What’s wrong?”
The woman swallowed hard before whispering, “He’s… my fiancé.”
Elsa blinked. “Your fiancé dragged you inside like luggage?”
The woman nodded slowly. “The dress he bought for his father’s birthday got burned. The maid did it, but I lied and said I was responsible. I didn’t want her to lose her job.”
“That’s why he’s angry?” Elsa hissed. “You’re not even married to him yet?”
Another tiny shake of the head.
“Then run,” Elsa whispered urgently. “Please. This man will destroy you. No one who loves you behaves like this.”
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes. “My father owes his father money… a lot of money. The marriage settles part of the debt. My family already agreed.”
Elsa felt something inside her crack. “So they want to pay the debt with your life? Look for the money. Borrow it. Fight for yourself. Just don’t stay with a man like this. You’ll never know peace.”
Before the woman could reply, her fiancé stormed toward them. And right in front of the entire boutique—he slapped the woman so hard her head tilted.
A sharp gasp echoed through the store—but none of them were as loud as the snap inside Elsa’s head.
Her hand moved before her brain caught up.
SLAP.
SLAP.
Two thunderclaps across his face.
The store went silent.
Elsa stood there, chest heaving, eyes blazing. “Touch her again,” she warned quietly, “and you’ll see madness today.”
The man stared at her, stunned.
His fiancée grabbed Elsa’s arm desperately. “Please… don’t make it worse.”
Elsa exhaled sharply but stepped back.
The man hissed, “You’ll regret this. I’ll get you fired.”
She scoffed. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Unfortunately… he didn’t need luck at all.
Two hours later, her phone rang.
Boss.
“Elsa,” he snapped the moment she picked up. “You’re fired. You assaulted a customer.”
She stared at the phone like it owed her rent. “Sir, with all due respect, he slapped his fiancée. In your shop.”
“That’s their personal matter. But you—”
“So when a customer slaps his partner, we should clap for him? It only becomes a personal matter because this shop technically belongs to your elder brother in the UK, right?”
He hesitated for one second—one tiny second—before barking, “Bring the shop keys.”
Elsa swallowed her frustration. “Boss, please. I need this job. I only reacted because she was being mistreated. I’m sorry. Give me one more chance. One.”
“Hand over the keys!” he thundered.
Elsa's shoulders slumped. “Okay, sir. But let me tell you this: If you ever lay a hand on your wife, I will come back and give you matching bruises. Mark my words.”
He shouted something, but she hung up before her mouth said something her destiny would regret.
They sent the shop boy to collect the keys.
Elsa didn’t just hand them over—she tossed them like an Olympic javelin. The poor boy had to leap like a goalkeeper to catch them.
The entire staff watched her leave. She gave them a dramatic exit: chin up, bag swinging, dignity dragging like a wounded soldier.
All the way home, she rehearsed how to break the news. Defending a woman sounded noble—but unpaid bills were not noble at all.
So she bought pizza and drinks on her way home. Peace-bribery food.
When she walked in, her parents blinked at the feast on the table.
They ate silently.
Suspiciously.
Peacefully.
Which, of course, was the perfect moment to ruin everything.
After the last slice disappeared, her mother asked, “Elsa, what exactly are we celebrating?”
Elsa smiled innocently. “Well… I got fired.”
Both parents gasped so loudly the windows almost cracked.
“But!” she added quickly, raising a finger. “I defended a woman. So technically… it’s heroism.”
Her mother glared. “Heroism? At your job? Elsa, do you want to be a superhero or pay bills?”
Elsa nodded thoughtfully. “Which is why I’ve decided on a new plan. I’ll just marry a rich man. Problem solved.”
Her father choked on his drink. Her mother grabbed a spoon like a warrior lifting a sword.
“Come here! Let me fix that nonsense in your head!”
Elsa shrieked and sprinted around the hall. Her father shouted, “Agnes, leave the girl! Maybe the rich man idea isn’t bad—”
“Samuel, shut up!”
Eventually the chaos faded. Elsa’s mother returned upstairs to shower. When she finished and settled into bed beside her husband, he was staring at the ceiling.
She nudged him. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Elsa,” he sighed. “She got fired. What will she do now? She acts strong… but she hates stress.”
His wife chuckled softly. “She’s a big girl. She’ll figure it out. She always does.”
He sat up slightly. “Figure it out? Did you hear what she said earlier? She said she’d rather marry a rich man than look for another job.”
His wife tried to keep a straight face but failed—bursting into laughter. “Honestly? She’s not wrong. Marrying rich would save her stress.”
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “And what exactly are you trying to say, madam?”
She grinned. “Nothing.” Then she rolled over, switching off the lamp. “Good night, dear.”
He shook his head, smiling into the darkness.
And downstairs, in her room, Elsa lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Unemployed.
Uncertain.
A little dramatic.
And yet… something in her chest whispered that maybe this disaster was the beginning of something bigger—something she couldn’t see yet.
Something heading straight toward her life like a storm she wasn’t ready for.
But destiny wasn’t waiting for permission.
It was already on its way.
For a long moment, she simply watched the shadows shifting across her ceiling, as if they held answers she had somehow misplaced along the way. Losing her job should have crushed her spirit, but instead, it left her strangely… restless. Like life had nudged her forward without explaining where she was supposed to go next.
Her phone buzzed with a notification—an email from a job board she had signed up for months ago but never checked. Normally she would ignore it, but tonight, curiosity made her open it.
A new listing blinked at the top: “Live-in Personal Assistant Needed. High Salary. Strict Confidentiality Required.”
Elsa frowned. The description was vague, almost suspicious, but the salary… the salary could pay off every bill in the house.
She dropped the phone onto her chest and whispered into the darkness.
Whatever it was, she didn't need it now. She took a deep breath and ignored.
- Writer
