Michel kept both jobs. Days became a blur of cleaning and coding, exhaustion and exhilaration. Sleep happened in fragments—four hours after the night shift, two more while the kids were at school. His body ran on coffee and purpose, the $11.50 hours funding groceries while Jenny's startup work slowly, carefully, rebuilt their savings.
Maria had transformed their kitchen into a production line. What started as desperation—selling tamales to neighbors for gas money—had become something else. Sophie designed labels with careful hearts around "Mama Martinez's Traditional Tamales." David calculated costs on spreadsheets Michel had taught him, tracking profit margins with the focus of a CFO. Friday nights meant assembly lines: Michel spreading masa, Maria filling, kids wrapping corn husks while cumbia played softly.
"Mrs. Chen wants five dozen for her daughter's birthday," David announced, updating their order board—a whiteboard they'd bought at Goodwill. "And the coffee shop asked if we can do breakfast tamales."
The Martinez family had become something new—not desperate, but determined. Not broken, but rebuilt stronger. When Michel's alarm rang at 10 PM for his custodial shift, Sophie would hug him goodbye. "Clean good, Daddy," she'd say, their private joke. When he came home at 7 AM, David would have coffee ready, strong and black, before catching the bus.
One Sunday, Carlos appeared at their door, shoulders slumped. His cologne couldn't mask the smell of fear Michel knew too well. "I... I lost my job. Michel, I'm sorry. I was a coward. I was scared it would happen to me and—"
Michel saw himself six months ago, hollow and terrified. Saw the eviction notice Carlos was probably hiding, the piggy banks his kids might be counting. Pride was a luxury. Friendship was a choice.
"Come in," Michel said. "Maria made pozole."
Carlos broke at their kitchen table, the same place Michel had shattered. But this time, there were hands to catch the pieces. Maria served soup. David offered his chair. Sophie showed Carlos her latest tamale label design. And Michel—Michel offered what Elena had given him: the knowledge that falling wasn't failing, it was just another kind of beginning.
"I can teach you to code," Michel said. "Jenny needs more hands. And Maria needs delivery drivers for the tamale business."