that no one bothered to pick up. The same faces filled the same spaces, caught in a rhythm of survival that never seemed to end. The old mango tree

of grime that bore silent witness to time's indifferent passage. Even the fruit store run by the grumpy old wom

ht study sessions and early-morning shifts at the diner. She didn't have much, but she'd found a place there, a place where she could save every coin and hold tightly to her dreams of something better. Yet, her father's drinking hung over her lif

edges but comfortable, with checkered tablecloths that had faded from years of washing and stools that creaked under the weight of regulars. Mornings were quiet, filled with the scent of

out the window that she recognized all too well. She knew before she even looked up. Her heart dropped,

a lifeline. His face was red, his eyes glassy, his voice slurred as he calle

tagger, his feet shuffling unevenly on the pavement. He leaned against a lamppost, his hand outstretched as he ca

s as they turned back to her. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she tried to block out the whispers that began to rise a

and unyielding. He wasn't an unkind man, but his patience was thin, and his gaze was stern as

ast a disapproving look out the window. "I can't have this. If he keeps showing up he

quickly, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry. I'll...

ting her face like a slap. Her heart pounded as she stepped out into the sunlight, feeling every pair of eyes still watching, still judging. Her father's g

and waving the bottle in front of her face. "I'm out, A

pulling out the crumpled bills that she had been saving. She held them out, her hand trembling as

his," she whispered, her voice barely audible, pleading w

already turning away, his focus solely on the next drink. He left without looking back, his figure d

cheeks, silent and steady. She stood there, frozen, as the murmurs around

gine living like that? No

poor thing. You know one day she'll p

h a nice girl. If only her father

ady fragile composure. She wanted to block them out, to close her ears and pretend she couldn't hear them. But the wo

l she felt like she might collapse under the weight of it all. Her father had left her there, standing in the harsh glare of the sun, surrounded by strangers who saw her pain, who witnessed her humiliation. And there was

of determination. She would go back inside, she would put on her apron, and she would finish her shift. Because that was all she could do-