Chapter 9: Working for a Living
Chapter 9: Working for a Living
A month passed.
The harsh reality of poverty had completely crushed Margaret's spirit.
They couldn't afford the motel anymore.
They were living in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment above a noisy laundromat.
Margaret, a woman who hadn't washed her own dishes in forty years, was forced to get a job.
She stood behind the counter of a high-end bakery.
Wearing a ridiculous hairnet and a stained apron.
She hated every second of it.
The bell above the door rang, signaling a new customer.
"Welcome to—" Margaret started to drone, before freezing.
Standing on the other side of the display case were three women.
Her former country club friends.
The women she used to gossip with.
The women she used to brag to about her wealth.
They looked at her, their eyes wide with poorly concealed delight.
"Oh, Margaret!" one of them gasped. "We heard the rumors, but... oh my."
"Is this some sort of charity volunteer work?" another asked, dripping with sarcasm.
Margaret's face burned so hot she thought she might pass out.
"I'm... I'm just helping out a friend," she stammered, grabbing a rag to furiously wipe the counter.
"Of course you are," the first woman smiled cruelly.
"We'll take a dozen macarons. Pack them carefully, dear."
Margaret's hands trembled as she boxed the pastries.
She remembered the words she had spoken to Mariana.
You can cover someone in diamonds, but you'll never change where they came from.
The universe had a sickening sense of humor.
Now, she was the one serving the elite.
She handed the box across the counter.
The woman handed her a hundred-dollar bill.
May you like
"Keep the change, Margaret," she said softly. "You look like you need it."
As they walked out laughing, Margaret finally broke down and sobbed into her hands.
