VICTORIA WAS SACKED
Victoria has been deeply committed to her cleaning job at Mario Royal Hospital. But today, as minutes ticked past her usual arrival time, she wished she could fly.
The bus was full of delays, making every red light feel like a tiny obstacle. Victoria was almost half an hour late to work and hurried toward the janitorial closet, her heart pounding like a trapped bird.
She only needed to grab the mop, start cleaning, and skip her break to stay on schedule.
"Victoria!"
The voice was flat and lacked warmth—missing the usual hospital cheer.
Mr. Cole, the floor supervisor, was standing by the supply door, arms crossed over a crisp white shirt that had never known the sweat of manual work.
His gaze was unusual.
"Mr. Cole, I truly apologize," Victoria gasped, clutching her chest.
"Traffic caused the delay—"
"I don't pay you to tell me stories, Victoria,' Cole said sharply, his eyes fixed on his clipboard. "I pay for a 6:00 AM start. The surgical wing was supposed to be cleaned before rounds, and it isn't."
"I'll do it now!, I'll stay late, work through lunch—"
"There won't be lunch," Cole responded, finally looking at her.
No anger, just indifference, which felt even worse.
"Management is tightening the budget, and they've asked me to trim the 'unreliables' from the team. You've been late three times this month."
"It was last Thursday," she said calmly, "when my sister was preparing for her scholarship exam—"
"Scholarship?" he teased.
"Yes," Victoria answered, " she will be studying law..."
"Then I suggest she studies the 'At-Will' employment clause," Cole said coldly.
He extended his hand.
"Please give me your badge. Your final paycheck will be mailed to the address we have on file for you. And don't make me call security."
Victoria quietly stood in the hallway, watching doctors and nurses rush past her, their footsteps echoing on the floor she had cleaned until her knuckles ached.
She felt invisible, as if she had been erased.
Slowly, her trembling fingers reached for her lanyard.
She unclipped her ID—and handed it over to Cole's open hand.
She turned around and walked through the sliding glass doors.
The bright morning sun hit the pavement with a harsh glare, almost like a mockery. The only thing that had kept her afloat for so many years was gone.
Victoria sat on the bus bench, clasped her hands over her face, and for the first time in years, she let out a ragged, sobbing cry.
To Clara and Celine, Victoria was like a fortress—strong, unyielding, like iron and lightning.
They barely saw her cracks because Victoria spent every moment sealing them with willpower.
Her own rules were simple yet strict:
The sisters eat first, sleep first, and their needs take precedence over everything else.
During tough months, when food was scarce and only enough for two, she would set the table for the twins, serving modest portions of pasta or toast, while she stayed behind the stove with an empty plate.
Celine's sharp eyes would ask, "Aren't you eating, Vic?" and Victoria would smile, saying she had eaten at the hospital cafeteria, hiding her empty stomach.
The truth was she hadn't eaten in a day; she'd wait until they were asleep to drink water and soothe her cramps, quietly leaning against the cold kitchen counter.
Her work was physically exhausting—in winter, her hands would become so chapped and frostbitten from hauling wet laundry that they would bleed.
Before entering their attic flat, she'd pause in the hallway, wrap her hands in cheap bandages, slip on old gloves, and take a deep breath to hide her pain.
Clara once asked why she wore gloves indoors, and Victoria cheerfully responded that it was a new beauty trick from a magazine—keeping her hands soft as silk.
She never told them that underneath, her nails were broken and her skin raw.
To her, showing pain was a defeat. If they saw her hurt, they might feel unsafe—and 'safe' was all she had to give.
Today, she would need to clean her tears before her sisters came back from school.
She was completely exhausted.
However, another source of income must be found as soon as possible.