Electricity.
Groceries.
Transportation.
The grocery pile was always the smallest.
I worked long shifts as a waitress, smiling at customers while pain climbed from my feet to my lower back. I had become skilled at hiding hunger, fatigue, and fear beneath a cheerful voice.
“Of course.”
“Right away.”
“Is there anything else I can bring you?”
No matter how tired I was, I never wanted anyone to see me struggling.
Then I met Russell.
It happened at a charity dinner held in a ballroom so elegant that even the air seemed expensive. I was working as temporary catering staff, dressed in stiff black trousers and a white shirt that pinched around my shoulders.
I had skipped lunch because the uniform was slightly too small. By the time the first champagne glasses were served, the chandeliers overhead had begun to blur.
Russell stood near the edge of the crowd.
