hany

sound usually comforts me. But now, it makes the ache in my heart even worse. She doesn't know the half of

scroll, something catches my eye: "FAKE MARRIAGE, REQUIREMENTS: MUST BE A GOOD ACTOR." The words are ridiculo

onster. But the ad lingers in my mind longer than I'd like to admit. Fake ma

Elise's room. I open the door slowly, peeking in at her. She's snuggled under her blankets, her

protect her, that I'd keep her safe no matter what. But I can feel the pressure mounting. Am I doin

hilly air bites at my skin, but my mind is miles away, back in that endless loop of worry and fear. By the time I reach the café at 7:30, the weariness has

things couldn't get worse, they did. The café where I'd worked for years, t

y boss said without even looking me in the

king late shifts, cleaning tables long after the doors were locked. "Please, Mr. Daniels," I said, my voice catching

ds didn't even register. He just shook his

had gone mute, all the sounds of the city around me fading into nothing. I just stood there, staring at

searching for a new job. Those jobs I had i

begging for a chance to work. But it was always the same: a shake of the h

ants, even places I knew I was overqualif

myself sitting outside in the cold after another wasted

the usual garbage-until that same ad popped up again

t laugh. This time

and probably a scam but the promise of money was right there in bold letters. I

us. How desperate would I hav

ght of Don Mario's threats, the loo

itting on our kitchen counter, the rent

n. My fingers trembled as I typed. What am I doing? I hesitated for a l

eart dropped into my stomach

k screen, waiting for the guilt to hit me. But inste