Amanda

I was standing by the picture window of my office, reviewing reports, when the silence was broken by the sound of little feet. Turning around, I saw a little boy of about three. He froze for a moment, then rushed toward me with an excited cry of "Mom!"
“Baby, you’re mistaken, I’m not your mother...” I said softly, slightly confused.
But my words only upset him. The child's lower lip trembled, tears glistened in his eyes, and he pitifully reached out his chubby hands to me. My heart, usually cold to family matters, fluttered. I crouched down and picked him up, holding him close to comfort him.
At that moment, the door swung open. Amanda, a young woman from a prominent family who had come to see me for an interview, stood there. She looked anxious and out of breath.
"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry!" she breathed out, freezing in the doorway at the sight of her son in my arms.
I smiled faintly, stroking the child's back.
"Everything's fine. He just got a little confused," I carefully handed the baby to her.
The interview went brilliantly—Amanda was educated and intelligent. When I announced she'd been hired, she hesitated and hopefully asked if she could take her son with her sometimes, as she had no one to leave him with. Looking at this little rascal, I unexpectedly agreed.