“But I pay half the rent here,” I whispered.
He only laughed, snatched his keys, and slammed the door on his way out.
I didn’t scream or plead. I packed my belongings in a daze and left that very night. I crashed in my best friend Leila’s spare room. She didn’t ask questions; she simply hugged me, made hot tea, and gave me space to breathe. I’ll never forget that.
After that, survival mode took over. I worked straight through to my eighth month, pulling twelve-hour shifts on swollen feet while my back screamed. My coworkers begged me to stop.
“Mane, you shouldn’t be lifting patients,” my supervisor Marcie said, worry clear in her voice.
“I don’t have a choice,” I told her, hand resting on my belly. “I have to keep going.”
Every dollar counted. I clipped coupons, skipped anything that wasn’t essential, and slowly bought wipes, onesies, a second-hand crib from an online mom group. I made it work.
But today something changed.
I had just over two weeks until my due date, and for once I wanted one small thing just for me. Months earlier I had fallen in love with a gold embroidered designer dress online.
Ridiculous, I know. But I kept returning to the picture, imagining myself wearing it. I told myself that if I got through this pregnancy alone, I deserved to try it on at least once.
So today I went to the mall.
