Stella grabbed her delivery box and scrambled up the steps, slipping and sliding. Icy rainwater streamed down her neck and into her already soaked uniform, chilling her to the bone. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, like a haywire sewing machine.
Inside the art center, it was another world.
Warm yellow lights, elegant classical music, and immaculately dressed men and women sipping champagne, their laughter soft and refined. They were like a different species—graceful, dry, completely untouched by the violent world raging just outside the glass.
This was the city she navigated every day, yet an invisible wall separated her from them, from their world.
She was stopped by a security guard. The reason: "improper attire."
"I... I'm here to make a delivery. The order is about to be late," she stammered, her voice trembling from the cold as she held up her phone.
The guard's eyes scanned her as if she were a piece of trash. He waved his hand dismissively. "Side door, over there. Wait."
The words were like a slap.
Just then, her phone buzzed violently. It was the customer, his voice sharp and furious.
"Where the hell is my delivery? If it's not here in five minutes, I'm giving you the worst possible rating and filing a complaint!"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm almost there!" Stella apologized profusely, her heart sinking.
She hung up, the feeling of humiliation and urgency a toxic cocktail in her stomach. She huddled in a small alcove by the side door, barely sheltered from the rain, feeling like an abandoned kitten. She watched the people inside, laughing and talking amidst priceless art, then looked down at her own hands—pale and wrinkled from the rain, covered in scratches.
A colossal sense of powerlessness seized her.
She thought of her mother's pale face in the hospital bed, of the medical bills that grew larger every single day. She worked sixteen hours a day, a tireless machine, but the money she earned was a mere drop in the ocean against the mountain of debt.
Her world was collapsing.
And in that moment of despair, her foot kicked something hard.
She looked down. In the sliver of light from the doorway, a black men's wallet lay on the wet ground. The leather was exquisite, still gleaming under the assault of the rain.
Her heart skipped a beat.