Cancel the Cradle, Cue the Rage

That afternoon, I locked myself in my office. Downstairs, several media vans were already parked, cameras at the ready. I let out a bitter laugh.

From today onward, I, Natasha Cooper, would just be nothing more than a businesswoman.

I picked up the internal line and called Mabel. "Notify all employees that our next meeting will be in the main conference room, 9:00 am sharp tomorrow. We'll announce the company's final decision regarding the recent controversy over daycare benefits."

Mabel sounded hesitant. "Ms. Cooper, are we really… compromising?"

"No," I said, staring out the window at the flashing cameras. "It's time they pay for their greed."

The next morning, the main conference room was packed. The air buzzed with excitement and anticipation, more like a celebration than a meeting.

Keira sat in the front row, surrounded by a cluster of moms; she was clearly the center of attention. Her makeup was flawless, and she was proudly sharing her "battle strategies" with anyone who would listen.

"You can't go soft on a capitalist," she said. "As long as we stick together and make a scene, she'll definitely be scared. Trust me. Today, she'll give us what we want."

Layla sat beside her, smiling politely and nodding along every now and then.

At exactly 9:00 am, I walked into the conference room. Every pair of eyes snapped toward me instantly—some gleeful, some just watching for drama, some openly greedy.

I walked to the front, ignored the prepared slides, and slowly scanned the crowd. Then, I said, "First, I'd like to apologize to everyone."

A wave of shock rippled through the room, quickly followed by applause and cheers. Keira raised an eyebrow, looking smug. Then, she took out her phone, probably to share the good news.

I straightened my back and looked at them. "Because of my personal assumptions, I failed to fully consider the desire many working moms have to raise their kids independently. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience and misunderstandings this has caused."

The applause grew louder. Someone shouted, "We understand, Ms. Cooper! It's admirable that you can admit your mistake!"

Once the applause died down, I continued, "To fully respect everyone's choices, and in response to the strong demand for independent childcare, we had a careful discussion with the company's senior management last night and decided…"

I deliberately paused. Everyone held their breath, leaning forward, eyes shining with anticipation.

I looked at them and announced my decision. "First, effectively immediately, the company's in-house daycare will be permanently closed."

The conference room erupted into cheers. Keira and her group hugged each other in excitement. They had won!

I ignored their celebration and continued with the second announcement. "Second, to compensate everyone, the company will switch to providing childcare allowances."

The crowd quieted. They stared at me expectantly. I cleared my throat and announced the number they had never dared to dream in their wildest fantasies.

"For all eligible working mothers," I read, "each will receive a monthly childcare allowance of 200 dollars."

The room went utterly silent.

Keira's phone, poised to flaunt her victory, slipped from her hands with a loud crash, the screen shattering.

She was the first to react, jumping to her feet and shouting, "200? Are you messing with us, Natasha? What about the daycare budget? Did you pocket all that money?"

I looked at her coldly. "Budget? What budget are you talking about? The daycare has always been personally funded by me, using my own money. The company never paid for it. Now, I'm done funding it. Do you have a problem with that?"

The truth left everyone speechless. They had assumed the company had funded the daycare. They thought by making a fuss, they could turn this benefit into cash.

What they never considered was that this benefit was never theirs to claim—it was a gift I had paid for from my own pocket.

"Impossible!" Keira screamed. "You're lying! You're a greedy capitalist who's trying to take all the money for yourself!"

"Believe whatever you want," I said expressionlessly. "And one more thing—because of the recent public backlash, the company's reputation has taken a serious hit. As a result, our largest partner has just frozen all cooperation with us."

I swept my cold gaze over every pale face in the room. "The board held an emergency meeting overnight and required me to cut 30% of the company's operating costs within 24 hours to handle the potential crisis.

I took a deep breath and finished, "In other words, your layoff notices will arrive in your email inboxes by tomorrow morning. Meeting adjourned."