My name is Arnold, and at 60, I never imagined starting over. For 35 years, I gave everything to one company—mentoring, showing up every day, never once calling in sick. Then they fired me. Over a mini fridge. Worse, they called me paranoid. But it all began with something small: a stolen lunch.
My wife, Matilda, has Parkinson’s, yet she still wakes early each morning to pack my meals—her quiet way of loving me through the pain. When someone at work started stealing my lunch, I kept it to myself. I didn’t want to upset her. But after the third time, I’d had enough. I bought a mini fridge and tucked it under my desk.
