I carefully looked down at my uniform—it clung tightly to my body, making me feel every stare from the male patrons at the bar where I worked. But I chose to ignore them.
I'm Sienna Constalles, 18 years old. I was forced to stop going to school because of poverty.
If only my family were in better circumstances, I would've fulfilled my dream of finishing my studies and becoming a teacher by now.
They say I'm beautiful. They say I got my looks from my mother back in her younger years—she's part Spanish, which explains my mestiza features.
My eyes are round and often give off an innocent gaze. My dark brown hair falls naturally to my waist.
Some say I have "kissable lips"—naturally red, even without lipstick.
My nose is well-shaped, and my long eyelashes curl upward naturally, accentuating my entire face.
I stand at 5'2", with a slender figure. My chest often draws attention—people assume I had it enhanced, especially some of the girls at the bar. I just shake my head every time I hear them whispering.
The bar manager has offered several times to let me "table" with guests, saying I'd earn more that way—especially since many VIPs have taken a liking to me. But I've always refused.
Even if this is the job I ended up with, I still choose to keep my dignity.
I know how others see me—especially our neighbors.
But I've learned to stay silent.
They don't know what I'm going through.
And they have nothing to offer, anyway.
For my family, I'll endure anything.
My mother practically lives in the hospital now due to her illness—leukemia.
Our father left us years ago. He ran off with another woman and never came back.
There are three of us. I'm the eldest.
I live with my 10-year-old brother Marco, and our youngest, Leticia, who is only six.
That's why I work in a bar as a waitress.
It's not easy, but I do it to buy Mom's medicine and put food on the table.
I stepped out of the room and heard the soft laughter of Marco and Leticia from the living room.
They sat together on the old sofa, engrossed in their favorite cartoon.
I glanced at the clock on the wall—it was almost 7:00 p.m.
I still had time. My shift at the bar wouldn't start until 9:30, which meant I could stop by PGH to visit Mom.
I hoped she'd still be awake by the time I got there.
"Marco, lock the door after I leave, okay? Don't open it for anyone," I instructed as I adjusted my bag.
"Yes, Ate," Marco quickly replied.
"Ate, bring home the bread with ham again, please? The yummy one!" Leticia chimed in, tugging at my shirt.
"Of course, sweetheart," I said, planting a kiss on her cheek and giving her a tight hug.
I stood and headed for the door.
"Marco, take care of things here, okay? There's rice and fried eggs on the table. Don't forget what I told you."
"Yes, Ate… Take care," Marco replied, still holding Leticia's hand.
I stepped out and started walking toward the jeepney stop.
Even from the corner, I already spotted Brandon's group—loitering and clearly up to no good as usual.
I could feel their eyes on me, especially Brandon's, who had always ogled at me shamelessly.
I frowned as I noticed him approaching, that mischievous grin I despised plastered on his face.
"Sienna, let me walk you," he offered, stepping closer.
"No, Brandon. I'm heading to the hospital," I replied, calmly but firmly, trying not to show my irritation.
But he didn't stop. Instead, he came even closer.
"Come on, Sienna… how much do you cost?" he muttered, eyes hungrily scanning my body.
I snapped. My temper flared as I gave him a sharp glare.
"Cut it out, Brandon. Or I'll report you to the police."
He just laughed, unfazed.
But just in time, I saw Mang Tasio and the neighborhood watch patrol turning the corner.
Brandon's expression shifted slightly—he took a small step back, and I took the opportunity to head to the jeepney stop without looking back.
When I entered the public hospital, I was immediately greeted by the sterile scent of medicine and disinfectant.
Rows of beds lined up, separated only by thin curtains.
It was quiet, but the air was filled with soft coughs, the hiss of oxygen tanks, and the soft footsteps of nurses.
My mother's bed was at the far end of the ward. Her body was frail—skin and bones.
A nurse with a clipboard passed me and gave a faint smile, clearly used to my daily visits.
"Ma…" I whispered gently as I approached.
Her eyes were open, but she looked exhausted. An oxygen tube was secured under her nose, and an IV was attached to her left arm.
"You're early," she said weakly, forcing a smile.
I sat beside her and gently held her hand.
"I still have time before work. I just wanted to check in on you."
I stared at her face—the once bright eyes now dull and weary. But even so, I could still feel the warmth of her love in her gaze.
"How are Marco and Leticia?"
"They're fine, Ma. I made sure they ate before I left. Leticia wants that ham sandwich again," I said, trying to smile.
Mom chuckled softly, though it quickly turned into a light cough.
I reached for the glass of water nearby and helped her drink.
With every movement, I felt pain—not just for her, but deep in my heart.
"Ma… just a bit more patience, okay? I'm saving up. I might be able to afford the full dose of your medicine next week."
She didn't reply, but she reached up and gently stroked my cheek with her trembling hand.
"Thank you, anak… I'm sorry if this is the life I gave you."
"You don't need to say sorry, Ma. I'll never leave you."
I hugged her gently, fighting back the tears.
Deep inside, I knew…
I had to sacrifice more.
Hold on tighter.
For them.
After leaving the hospital, I headed straight for Makati Avenue.
From the cramped and noisy streets of the city, I was met with the lights and buzz of the night.
Headlights, billboards, skyscrapers—
I entered a tall building that housed the bar where I worked.
A high-end bar in Makati—not just any place.
It attracted famous personalities, businessmen, and wealthy men used to luxury.
If it weren't for Trisha, my best friend since high school, I wouldn't have gotten in.
She helped me land this job.
She taught me how to move, dress, and speak in this kind of world.
The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by the cool air conditioning, soft music beats, and the scent of expensive liquor.
The lights were dim but elegant—gold and red hues filled the place.
The waitresses all wore form-fitting uniforms.
"Sienna, you're on Floor B tonight."
It was our supervisor, Madam Liza, a woman who always looked you up and down with a strict gaze.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied with a nod and headed to the staff room to change into my uniform—
a fitted black dress with a side slit and a slightly plunging neckline.
I changed out of what I was wearing, since Floor B required a more daring outfit.
It didn't bother me much—I was a waitress, not an escort.
I wore it with a bit of hesitation, but I was used to it.
I had to blend in.
For them. For Mama.
As I stepped out of the staff room, I could already feel the eyes of the male customers in the VIP booths.
Some were known businessmen, executives, or wealthy heirs used to getting what they wanted.
Another night of work.
Another night to endure.
But in my heart, a quiet prayer played on repeat:
Just a little longer, Sienna... hold on a little longer—for Mama, for Marco, and for Leticia.