The blonde and the brunette

You know, everyone thinks I lost my mind when I turned down my boss’s insane proposal. And honestly? I don’t blame them. He’s always been a serious guy — focused, successful, filthy rich. Up until recently, he had a beautiful family, too. But last year, everything fell apart: his wife was in a tragic accident and passed away. He was devastated. Truly heartbroken. He loved her in that rare, movie-like way.

One day, he called me in for a private talk. Said I reminded him a lot of his wife… and then asked if I’d be willing to “take her place.” I laughed, thinking it was some twisted joke. But he wasn’t joking. The kids were inconsolable without their mother, and he told me he’d cover everything: surgeries, aesthetic treatments, even a new identity if I wanted it. I’d never have to work again. Just be the perfect wife, the perfect mother to his children, and live in luxury.

Apparently, I was practically her lost twin. Same body structure, similar features… she was a stunning blonde — curvy, seductive, the kind of woman that turns heads. According to him, I just needed a few tweaks.

I stood up right then and there. Looked him straight in the eye and said, loud and clear, “Are you insane?! I’m a man! Who in their right mind would agree to something like this?!”

But honestly? What really made me sick, what truly pushed me over the edge, wasn’t even the idea itself — as absurd as it was. It was the detail. The cherry on top.

He wanted me to go blonde. Blonde!

For God’s sake, I’m a natural brunette! I’m proud of my skin tone, the contrast, the whole vibe. Go blonde? Never!

Well... he respected my one condition. And here I am. A brunette. Gorgeous, still bearing a strong resemblance to her — just with a touch of me. We’ll just tell the kids that “mommy dyed her hair,” right?

After everything I’ve been through, I’ve earned at least that little victory.