I met my boyfriend’s parents for the first time. They were lovely, and we got along well. After lunch, I went to the bathroom, but when I got back, they were acting strangely. My partner quickly stated we should leave. “You could have at least warned me!” he said once they got in the car. I was astonished to realize that he was looking at me like I had done something wrong.
I looked at him and wasn’t sure if I should laugh or scream. “What did you tell me to be careful about?”
He scratched his brow and let out a breath like I had ruined his whole life. “Your last name.” You didn’t believe that might be important?
I said, “Kanaan?” since I was bewildered. What do you think?
He laughed for a short time, but it was bitter. “My dad used to work for a company that made textiles called Harrow & Brook.” The woman who sued them because they fired her without a good reason? One of the company’s biggest problems in the past? Her name was “Ghada Kanaan.”
My stomach dropped.
Ghada Kanaan was my mom.
I hadn’t thought about that lawsuit in a long time. It happened when I was 15. For more than ten years, my mom worked at Harrow & Brook as a seamstress. She was dismissed after notifying her boss about unsafe working conditions and skimming pay. It took months for her lawsuit to be over, and it cost our family practically everything. I remembered how my parents talked quietly behind closed doors, how the moms in the neighborhood stopped calling, and how she got threats in the mail.
“I didn’t even know your dad worked there,” I said gently, my voice breaking. “I didn’t put the pieces together.”
He glanced straight forward. “Do you really not think that matters?” My dad almost lost his pension because of your mom.
I had no idea what to say.
We didn’t talk for the rest of the voyage.
The next day, I texted him to talk things over. He didn’t respond. For two days, nothing happened. At last, he remarked, “I just don’t think this is going to work.” I have to understand that my parents are uneasy.
Not a call. Don’t talk. It’s merely a text that goes nowhere.
That should have been the end of it.
But I got an email three weeks later. From his mom.
Her name was Colette, and she wrote in a very professional fashion. After lunch, she told me she felt “unfinished” and asked if we could talk about it. Only the two of us. “Over tea, if that’s okay with you.”
I wanted to ignore it. Who talks to their son’s ex like that?
But I couldn’t help but want to know. And a small, stupid part of me felt that this may make things better. That it might not have had anything to do with my mom.
We met at a little café in Newton. When I got there, she was already sitting down with her cardigan neatly folded over the back of the chair and a cup of tea that she hadn’t touched.
“Thanks for coming,” she said, her eyes warm but cautious. “I won’t keep you long.”
I nodded, not knowing what to expect.
She got to it immediately away. “I wanted to ask you something personal. Did your mom ever talk about Alma Ricketts when she sued Harrow & Brook?
The name brought back a weak memory, like a song I had heard before. “I think so.” Was she another employee? “Older woman?”
Colette shook her head. “She was my best friend. Worked on the same floor as your mother. Alma passed away a few months after the trial.
She came to a stop. She pressed her lips together. I could tell she was keeping something from me.
After that, she went on, “Alma gave a deposition to support your mom. She said she saw the mold in the storage rooms and the missing overtime slips. And then they also let her go.
I didn’t know what to say. I just looked.
“My spouse never talks about it. Says it’s done now. But I can’t stop thinking about Alma. The price she paid. What she stood up for. And I— Her voice broke.
“I should have been nicer to you during lunch.” It just shocked me. But the truth is that I admire your mother. I think you deserved better than the way things ended with my kid.
That last sentence stunned me more than anything else.
I blinked the tears away. “Thanks.” That means a lot to you.
Then she did something that shocked everyone: she pulled out a manila package. “This is going to sound strange. Alma, on the other hand, wrote in a journal. I came saw it when searching through her belongings after she died. There is a page in this book about your mom. I thought you would want to look at it.
I took the envelope. We hugged for a little while, and then she left.
I read that post on the way home.
It was just two pages long. Alma had, however, written about how terrified everyone was to speak up. Ghada Kanaan “marched in with nothing but the truth and a folder full of payroll problems,” even though she knew people would call her a troublemaker. Alma stated, “She didn’t do it for herself; she did it for all of us who were too tired and scared.” I hope her daughter finds out that her mom was brave.
I cried quietly on the way.
I had to build up my courage for a few days, but I finally showed my mom the entry.
She smiled softly, stroked the page, and then said, “Alma told me to go public.” She said, “If no one stands up now, they’ll walk all over the next girl.” I had no idea she wrote this.
Then she carefully folded it and said she would put it in a frame.
That should have been enough to end it. But it wasn’t.
A month later, my ex, Jovan, sent me a message. He stated he wanted to talk.
We met at a park. A place where both sides can come to an agreement.
He didn’t look like the same person. Pale and maybe a little less heavy.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did everything wrong.”
I nodded, but I didn’t make it easy. “What’s new?”
He paused for a second and then said, “My dad’s old business is in the news again.” There is a lawsuit. Things that are bad for you. The mold your mom talked about was just the start.
He took a big gulp.
“My cousin worked there last year.” She’s in the hospital right now. Things that make it hard to breathe. And I just—
He didn’t finish.
Instead, he pulled out his phone and showed me an article. People had been looking at Harrow & Brook for breaching the law for decades. After my mom’s lawsuit, OSHA covertly started a case and found reports that had been kept secret.
I read it twice. After that, I said, “Your dad said she lied.”
“I know.”
“And you believed him.”
“I did.”
We sat on the bench and let the truth hang in the air like fog.
Then he said, “I don’t want anything from you.” I simply wanted to let you know that you and your mom were right.
It didn’t help our relationship. That wasn’t what I wanted to happen.
But it did something better: it made me feel proud again.
When I exited the meeting, I felt taller.
All of this happened three years ago.
I now live in Montreal and work for a program that helps women report harassment at work. I wish my mom had a facility like this back then.
We still talk about Alma every now and then. My mom puts her diary entry in a frame in the hall. A quiet reminder to stay strong. Of how one voice, just one, may last across time.
What about Jovan?
He sent me an email last year to indicate that his relative was going to join the case. She got a deal. Not much, but enough to cover her care.
He wrote, “Your mom saved more lives than she’ll ever know.”
That could be the point.
We never really know how far our good actions travel. Justice may take a long time, going through years and people we may never meet. But it does come. Sometimes in a low voice. In the news sometimes.
And sometimes, in a folded page from a woman who used to work next to your mom on a sewing machine.
If you got this far, here’s what I’ll say:
Don’t assume you know what someone else is going through. Please ask. Listen up. You never know who they’re standing on.
Please like this and share it with someone who needs to hear it if it moved you. Also, please let me know if someone in your life has stood up for what was right, even if it meant losing something.