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