Debbie returned to the restaurant just before the evening shift.
She wasn't scheduled. She wasn't even supposed to be in the building. But she had "forgotten her water bottle," as she told the front host.
In truth, she wanted to see the fallout.
Debbie lingered near the break room door, half-hidden, as Carla's voice echoed from the office.
"…liabilities, Sasha. One more incident, and it's out of my hands."
Debbie's eyes narrowed. Liabilities? She scoffed silently, but something about the word stuck.
She found her water bottle. It wasn't where she left it. Whatever. She sat down on the bench and stared at the floor.
"Liability."
The word kept playing in her head like a bad pop song. It wasn't the first time she'd heard it. Three write-ups in a month? Sure, but it wasn't like she didn't work hard. She did… when she wanted to.
And that was the problem, wasn't it?
Debbie rubbed her temples.
She remembered storming out mid-shift just hours ago. Leaving dishes behind. Leaving chaos.
Part of her didn't care.
But another part — the one she usually ignored — whispered, You're next.
She glanced at her reflection in the dark window.
Tired eyes. Stiff shoulders. Calloused hands. She'd been doing this kind of work for twenty years.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her niece: Are you coming to the recital tomorrow?
Debbie didn't reply. She stared at the message for a long time, then sighed.
"I'm too old for this sh**," she whispered.
Just then, the new shift schedule was posted near the kitchen entrance.
Debbie walked over.
Thursday – 9 AM – Debbie, Sasha, Luis.
She snorted. "Of course."
Luis appeared behind her. "Guess it's round two tomorrow."
Debbie didn't respond.
She just counted her teeth with her tongue.