Sarah's knees weakened as she remembered the good days, she then remembered the days when it all started to go wrong, her body tensing as memories of David's infidelity replayed in her head, she started remembering the picture of every woman David has been cheating on her with in their marriage. Had she not discovered this new information through her private investigator she might have been tempted, might have convinced herself that David's infidelity was a one time thing, she might have even believed that it was solely Lisa's fault, that she was the one who seduced David and him being a man, gave in to the temptation. But she knew this wasn't so, this was a habit for him, one that won't die so easily and she had no intention of wasting her life and enduring continuous heartbreak, just to try to get him on the right path. "Don't touch me!" She pushed David away and fled, her footsteps echoing with her escape. The encounter left her in an emotional turmoil, it was strange, she hated him but also missed him. She decided it was best not to meet with David unless it couldn't be avoided. With that conclusion she hurried back to Elm Street.
Once home, Sarah began to recall her past attempts at getting a job which all failed. She had even applied for a job at a coffee shop called "The daily grind" she still remembered the day she walked into the shop, the air smelled of rich coffee and warm pastry, a smell that meant relaxation for others but for her smelt like another chance.
The manager, a young man with a neat beard and a kind, tired smile, listened to her as she introduced herself.
He didn't waste time as he told her directly what he needed, " We are especially busy in the mornings, we need someone that can handle the morning rush, am not sure you can handle it" he said, tapping a pen on the application, deep in thought.
"I can handle it," Sarah said, her voice firmer than she felt. "Am a quick learner and I can easily adapt, that's one of my quirks"
He looked at her for a long moment the. He smiled. "You know what? Am getting a good feeling about you, can you start tomorrow? Seven sharp?"
The words were a jolt of pure undiluted lightening. It was nothing but just a job waiting tables but to her it was everything thing, for her it signalled the start of her independence.
"Yes," she said, beaming, the weight on her shoulders finally and miraculously, lifting. "Yes, of course. Thank you so much. You won't regret this."
The walk home was different. The autumn air was crisp, not cold. The faded leaves on the pavement were a beautiful mosaic, not decaying clutter. She practiced her greeting in her mind. [Good morning, welcome to The Daily Grind, what can I get for you?]
She let herself into the quiet house, her heart still thrumming with a joy so acute it was almost painful. She dropped her keys into the bowl on the hallway table. She would tell her grandma, Mrs Ellis over dinner. She could already see her face, the surprise or maybe relief. [Maybe things were finally turning around] Sarah thought.
She was hanging her coat when her phone, buried in her purse, began to ring. The caller ID flashed on the screen: The Daily Grind.
A tiny, cold finger of dread traced her spine. No. I hope this isn't what I think it is. Not again.
She answered, her voice barely a whisper. "Hello?"
It was the same manager, but the kind, tired warmth was gone from his voice, replaced by a flat, bureaucratic tone. "Sarah? Hi, it's Ben from The Daily Grind."
"Yes, hello Mr. Ben," she said, her grip tightening on the phone.
"I'm calling about the position we discussed earlier." He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. There's been a… a scheduling conflict with another staff member. It turns out we won't be needing to fill the role after all."
The words were so familiar they were a script. A scheduling conflict. A hiring freeze. A sudden reassessment of needs. The excuses were always different, yet always the same.
All her hope turned to dust, vanishing in an instant.
"But… you said…" she stammered, the fight draining out of her. "You told me to start tomorrow."
"I know, and I truly apologize for the mix-up," he said, the words smooth and rehearsed. "It was an error on our end. We won't be requiring your services. Good luck with your search."
The line went dead.
Sarah stood in the hallway, the phone still pressed to her ear, listening to the dial tone. The silence of the house, now pressed in on her, heavy and absolute. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, the cold hardwood seeping through her clothes.
She didn't cry. The frustration was a rock in her throat, too dense for tears. She just sat there, in the gathering gloom of the hallway, the faint, ghostly smell of coffee still clinging to her clothes—the cruel souvenir of a future that had been offered, and then snatched away, for the fifth time.
She couldn't even get a job as a waitress. The humiliation was a physical burn on her skin. It wasn't about the money anymore, not really. It was about being seen as utterly superfluous, so unnecessary that even the most basic of jobs were offered and then revoked, as if the universe itself had a scheduling conflict with her existence.
This memory was a memory she was now doomed to relive, over and over again, even in her dreams, with a different setting and a different excuse, but always with the same ending.
Two days later, a delivery van arrived at Mrs. Ellis's home, dropping off several boxes labelled with Sarah's name. She tore them open eagerly, hoping to reclaim a piece of her past, but as she sifted through the contents — clothes wrinkled and haphazardly packed, a few sentimental trinkets, she noticed some of her things were missing. Her cherished Jewelry box, a gift from David when they were newly wed, was missing, along with several designer bags and a collection of several dresses she saved for special occasions. Her heart sank but there was nothing she could do, she had just promised herself not to see David unless it was absolutely important and unavoidable, she could only let it go since these were only materialistic in nature and most of these things were gifted or bought by David. The loss of these belongings stung Sarah, as she had planned to sell some of them for money but her personal savings offered her hope but still, she would feel much better without having to rely on it. After unpacking and arranging everything. The meeting with Roseline Meyers replayed in her mind, it was a beacon of hope and possibility, pulling out her laptop, she typed on the keyboard as she visited the carter tech webpage. She began to go through everything about the company history as part of her preparation for the interview. Awhile back, under Roseline Meyers supervision she had Written a résumé which had already been forwarded through email, all she had to do now was wait to be contacted and hope it doesn't end the same way like others. In the meantime she would keep studying interview materials.
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(Eclipse club, State R)
The musical bass pulsed and vibrated throughout the floor and up into Sarah's bones. For the first time in months, the constant, anxious chatter in her mind was silent, drowned out by the synth-heavy beat and Rachel's infectious laughter.
"I told you we needed this!" Rachel Donovan yelled over the music, her face flushed with joy. She had shown up at Sarah's door two hours earlier, a whirlwind of determination in a little black dress, inviting her out for night of fun clubbin'. "You're stressed, I'm stressed. We're doing this. And don't even look at your wallet—I'm paying." This offer was the final push that made Sarah to cease all struggles and surrender.
Now, at Eclipse, the most famous club in the state R, Sarah felt like a different person. She wore a borrowed, stunning gown of Metallic pink that shimmered under the strobe lights, its spaghetti straps laid delicate on her shoulders. Her hair, which Rachel had meticulously curled, fell in soft, bouncy waves down her back. They had danced for what felt like hours, in a free, careless motion that felt like shedding a heavy coat. Several men had approached, but a shared, dismissive laugh from the two friends had sent them on their way.
"I'll be right back! Don't you dare stop dancing!" Rachel shouted, pointing a finger at Sarah playfully before weaving her way toward the restrooms.
Sarah closed her eyes, letting the music take over again, a small, genuine smile on her lips. She was so lost in the moment she didn't see the well-dressed man approach until he was right in front of her, smiling, his intention clear. She was already shaking her head with a polite "No, thank you," when it happened.
A large, unfamiliar hand clamped around her bare upper arm, its grip shockingly firm. It wasn't a tap or a brush; it was a vise-like hold that yanked her backwards, away from the man she was dismissing and toward the shadowy periphery of the dance floor.
Her smile vanished, replaced by a jolt of pure, cold alarm. She stumbled, her heel catching on the floor as an unknown strength pulled her effortlessly through the crowd. She tried to dig her feet in, her head whipping around to see who owned the rough, commanding hand but
was shocked when she laid her eyes on the aggressor.