Zuria
The city was too loud. Too big. Too full of strangers who didn't care if I lived or died.
I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked, my stomach twisting with hunger and nerves. I had spent two weeks searching for a job, and every single rejection weighed on me like a stone tied around my neck. My savings were nearly gone, and if I didn't find work soon, I wouldn't even have a motel bed to sleep in.
The street I was on was lined with restaurants, and I had been turned away from every single one of them. The last place at the end of the road had a "Help Wanted" sign taped to the glass door. My last shot. If they said no, I didn't know what I'd do.
Taking a shaky breath, I pushed open the door.
The inside was chaotic—chefs yelling, the sound of clattering dishes, the rich scent of food making my empty stomach growl. In the middle of it all, a short, chubby man with a receding hairline and beady eyes was screaming at someone behind the counter. His stubby fingers jabbed in the air, his face so red it looked like he might explode.
I hesitated, then forced myself forward. "Um… good morning."
His head snapped toward me, and for a moment, his rage didn't fade. Then he blinked, realizing I wasn't an employee, and suddenly, his voice dropped into something disturbingly polite. "Oh! Good morning! How may I help you?"
"I saw the vacancy sign outside," I said carefully. "I'd like to apply."
His eyes lit up with something I couldn't quite read. "Ah, of course! Right this way."
He led me to a small table in the corner, grabbed a clipboard, and sat across from me. His smile looked forced, but I ignored it.
"So… what's your name?"
"Zuria."
"Zuria." He nodded and wrote it down.
I frowned.
"And how old are you?"
"Twenty."
"Twenty."
Okay, was he just going to repeat everything I said?
"Do you have any restaurant experience?"
"Yes. I worked as a waitress in a diner back in my pack."
"Diner… in a pack."
I clenched my teeth. Is this man mocking me?
"Why do you want to work here?"
"Because I need a job." I smiled tightly, fighting the sarcasm creeping into my voice.
"Need a job."
I swear to the Moon Goddess, I was going to strangle him.
"Where do you live?"
"A motel."
His eyes flickered with something, but I couldn't tell what. He hesitated, then said, "Motel. Okay, just write the address here, and you've got the job."
I blinked. "Wait… what?"
"You're hired," he said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "You can start immediately."
I should have been relieved, but something about this felt… off. No one hired people this easily, especially not someone without a permanent address.
But I needed this job.
"Thank you so much, Mr…?"
"Connor," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Connor. I promise I'll work hard."
"Good." He stood. "Come, I'll introduce you to the staff."
I followed him through the restaurant, weaving through the workers setting up for the day. The kitchen was a storm of movement—people chopping, stirring, and shouting orders. The scent of fresh bread and sizzling meat made my stomach growl painfully.
Connor clapped his hands. "Everyone! This is Zuria, our new employee. Be nice."
No one even looked up.
"Tony, you've been promoted!" Connor called.
From the back of the room, someone cheered.
Connor turned to me. "You'll be taking his place. Follow Adrien."
A tall man in his late forties with graying brown hair stepped forward. His brown eyes had deep-set wrinkles beside them, making him look permanently unimpressed.
"I'm Adrien, head chef. Follow me," he said briskly.
I followed him to a quiet corner of the kitchen. There, waiting in the sink, was a mountain of dirty dishes.
"You'll be washing dishes," Adrien said bluntly. "Scrub them clean and place them here. If you have questions, ask. Otherwise, get to work."
Then he walked away.
I stared at the endless pile of plates. "Damn you, Tony."
Sighing, I tied my hair back, pulled on gloves, and plunged my hands into the soapy water. Some of the stains were so stubborn I had to scrub for minutes just to get them off.
I grinned when I finally defeated one particularly greasy plate. "I win."
Then another stack was placed beside me.
My grin disappeared. "I hate you, Tony."
I worked for hours, barely stopping to breathe. My hands ached, my back throbbed, and my stomach twisted with nausea. By the time my break came, I was already exhausted.
I scarfed down the food they gave me, rested for a few minutes, and was dragged right back into the kitchen.
By the time the restaurant closed, I could barely move. I joined the line of employees waiting for their pay, my body screaming in protest. When I finally reached the front, Connor handed me a single fifty-dollar bill.
I stared at it. "Uh… what?"
"You only washed dishes. That's your pay," Connor said flatly.
"But—"
"Next!"
My mouth opened, then shut. There was nothing I could do. I needed the money.
I shoved the bill into my pocket and walked out.
The streets were quieter now, the neon glow of signs flickering overhead as I made my way back to the motel. My body ached with every step, but the exhaustion wasn't just physical.
I had worked myself to the bone for fifty dollars.
Damn you, Tony. And damn you, Connor.
By the time I reached my motel room, I barely had the strength to drop onto the bed. I lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, before I finally reached out to Adelaide.
"Hey, Adelaide. You okay?"
"I'm fine, Zuria."
"You've been quiet lately. What's wrong?"
She hesitated.
"There's something I have to tell you."
I frowned. "Okay, I'm listening."
Another pause. Then, softly—
"You're pregnant, Zuria."
I sat up so fast my vision blurred. "What?"
No answer.
My h
eart slammed against my ribs. I felt like the air had been punched out of my lungs.
No. That— That couldn't be right.
But deep down, I already knew.