The bell above the small convenience store door jingled as Ethan bowed slightly to the customers passing by. His part-time shift had started an hour ago, and already his arms ached from stocking shelves and carrying boxes. The manager sat behind the counter, scrolling through his phone, barely sparing Ethan a glance.
"Boy!" a sharp voice cut through the aisle. A middle-aged man waved an empty hand. "Where's the soy sauce? I've been walking around and your store doesn't even have the basics!"
Ethan hurried over, bowing politely. "Sorry, sir. It's right this way."
He led the man to the shelf, pointing at the bottles neatly arranged.
The customer scowled. "You should learn to guide people properly. I wasted ten minutes because of you. Pathetic service."
"I… I apologize," Ethan said quietly, bowing again.
The man snorted and walked off, muttering under his breath.
Ethan stood frozen for a second, his fists tightening, but then he forced himself to take a slow breath. It's fine. As long as I can make enough today, it's worth it. He returned to stocking, his eyes heavy but his hands steady.
When his shift ended, he jogged down the street to his next job at a small diner. The smell of grease and fried food filled the air as soon as he stepped inside. He tied on the apron and rushed to the back, where the cook was already yelling.
"You're late again, Valen!" the cook barked, slamming a pan onto the stove. "We open at five sharp, and where were you? Wiping shelves somewhere else?"
"I'm sorry," Ethan bowed deeply. "The last shift ended late. It won't happen again."
The cook glared at him. "It always won't happen again, huh? Customers don't wait for your excuses. Get moving!"
"Yes, sir."
Ethan carried trays, wiped tables, and cleaned dishes, moving as fast as he could. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his uniform sticking to his back. At one point, a customer snapped at him when he brought the wrong order.
"I said beef rice, not pork!" the woman snapped, glaring as though he had committed a crime.
Ethan bowed again, voice low. "Sorry, ma'am. I'll fix it right away."
She scoffed. "You kids can't even do one thing right."
Ethan bit his lip and rushed back to the kitchen. His chest ached not from the running, but from the sting of every word. Still, he reminded himself again, It's fine. This is nothing. If I give up now, who will take care of Mom?
By the time the shift ended, his legs were trembling. He stepped outside, the night air brushing against his damp skin, and forced a small smile to himself. "Just one more. One more and then I can rest."
The last job was at a loading dock by the market, helping move crates late at night. The place was dim, the smell of fish and sweat mixing in the air. Older men worked beside him, their arms thick with muscle, their voices loud. Ethan, smaller and younger, stuck out immediately.
"Oi, kid," one of the workers shouted. "Don't just stand there. Grab that crate!"
"Yes, sir!" Ethan rushed to lift it. The weight nearly pulled him down, his arms trembling as he staggered forward.
"Too slow!" another worker barked. "If you can't carry it, don't bother showing up!"
Ethan clenched his teeth, adjusting his grip. His arms burned, but he forced himself forward, step by step, until the crate was set down.
By the third trip, his vision blurred, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
"You're weak, boy," one of the men muttered, shaking his head. "Probably just here to waste time."
Ethan wiped the sweat from his face, smiling faintly despite the insult. "I'll get stronger. I just need to keep trying."
The man scoffed but didn't reply.
Hour after hour passed until finally, the supervisor clapped his hands. "That's it for today. Go home."
Ethan bowed deeply, murmuring, "Thank you," before stepping out into the night.
The streets were quieter now, most shops closed. The moon hung high above, pale and distant. Ethan walked slowly, his steps dragging. Every muscle in his body ached, and yet he carried a small smile.
"Three jobs in one day," he whispered to himself. "Mom will be proud. Just a little more, and I can cover the rent. Just a little more, and I can buy her medicine."
His voice trembled, but he kept talking, as if speaking aloud could keep him standing.
"I can do this. I have to do this. For Mom… only for Mom."
He tightened his fists and looked ahead, the faint glow of their small rented house visible down the street. His world was harsh, cruel, and heavy, but the thought of his mother waiting for him with that tired yet gentle smile kept him moving.
No matter how many people shouted, no matter how many insults he endured, Ethan refused to break.
Because in the end, this pain was nothing compared to losing her.
...
The night air was cool as Ethan walked down the quiet street, his bag slung loosely over one shoulder. The city lights flickered in the distance, but here, in the old neighborhood, most of the houses were dark. He reached the small rented house, its paint peeling, its wooden door slightly crooked.
Inside, the faint smell of soup greeted him. His mother sat by the table, her thin frame leaning forward, hands folded as though she had been waiting for hours.
The moment Ethan stepped in, she looked up with worry.
"Why so late again, Ethan?" her voice was soft, but there was a sharp edge of concern.
Ethan froze for a second, then forced a small smile. "Ah, sorry, Mom. We had a group project at school. It dragged on longer than I thought."
Her eyes searched his face, as if she could see past the words, but Ethan quickly reached into his bag and pulled out a small plastic container. Inside was her favorite food—simple grilled fish with rice, still warm from the diner.
"I brought you something," Ethan said, placing it on the table with a smile. "Your favorite. You should eat."
Her expression softened, the tired lines on her face easing. "Ethan… you didn't need to do this. Are you sure you're not overworking again?"
He shook his head quickly, laughing lightly. "No, no. This isn't from work. Just from money I saved before. I promised, right? I'm not lying, Mom."
She studied him for another moment, then sighed and smiled faintly. "Alright. If you say so. Thank you, Ethan."
They sat together at the table, the small lamp above them casting a warm glow. The room was plain—bare walls, one shelf filled with old books, a single electric fan humming weakly in the corner. But in that moment, with the food between them, it felt like the warmest place in the world.
His mother took a bite and her face brightened. "Mm, this is really good. You always bring home the best, Ethan."
He smiled, watching her eat as though the taste alone was worth all his effort. His stomach growled quietly, but he ignored it until she pushed half the portion toward him.
"Eat with me," she said gently. "Don't just watch."
He nodded, taking a bite, the flavor plain but filling.
After a moment of quiet, she glanced at him. "So… how was school today? Did you and your friends hang out again?"
Ethan's heart tightened. The memory of being mocked, shoved, and laughed at flashed in his mind. He swallowed the food quickly and forced a grin.
"Yeah! We had fun. After class, we went to the court. They were joking around, and we played a little basketball. I even scored once," he said with a laugh, his voice a little too cheerful.
His mother's eyes softened, her smile gentle. "That's good. I'm glad you have good friends to spend time with. It makes me happy to know you're not always alone."
Ethan nodded eagerly, weaving more lies, painting pictures of a life he didn't live. "Yeah, they're great. They even teased me for running slow, but it was all in good fun."
His mother chuckled lightly, the sound weak but warm.
They ate quietly for a while before she spoke again. "And your grades? How are they doing? I hope you're keeping up."
Ethan's chopsticks paused for just a second, but he forced his hand to move again. "Mm, it's fine. Not the top, but I'm not falling behind either. Average, maybe. At least I'm not failing, right?" He smiled, as if it was no big deal.
She gave a small sigh of relief. "Good. I don't expect you to be perfect, Ethan. I just want you to keep going. That's all."
"Don't worry, Mom. I'll make you proud," he said softly.
The words sat heavy in his chest. Deep down, he knew his grades weren't fine, that the bullying and exhaustion left him struggling. But he couldn't let her know. He couldn't let her carry one more burden.
The little lies were easier than seeing her cry.
When they finished eating, Ethan quietly gathered the plates and washed them at the sink. His mother leaned against the wall, watching him with tired eyes.
"You've grown so much, Ethan," she murmured. "Sometimes, I feel guilty that you have to handle so much at your age."
He looked back, smiling faintly. "Don't say that, Mom. I'm fine. Really. As long as you're here, I can handle anything."
She smiled back, her eyes glistening under the dim light.
Later that night, Ethan lay in his small bed, staring at the ceiling. His mother's breathing was soft from the other side of the room. The lies replayed in his head the fake laughter, the pretend stories of friends, the made-up grades.
But he told himself it was worth it. If those lies kept her smiling, if they kept her from worrying, then he would keep telling them.
Even if the truth was breaking him little by little.