I lost my job for doing something I knew was right — and the next morning, everything I thought I knew about my future changed with a single envelope on my doorstep. Have you ever had one of those days where the world seems hell-bent on breaking you? I was only 18, but I felt like I’d aged a decade in the last two years.
Life has a way of kicking you when you’re down, and then stomping on your ribs just for good measure. I worked at this tiny family-owned restaurant, nothing fancy. And before you get any ideas, I wasn’t even a waiter.
Management thought I looked “too green” for customer service, so I was stuck in the back, scraping gum off chairs, bussing tables, and scrubbing plates until my fingers pruned. I didn’t get any tips. Just minimum wage and the hope I wouldn’t get yelled at for “standing around.”
But I didn’t complain.
Not once. After my parents died in a car accident, I inherited their old house and the mess they left behind. It turns out that grief doesn’t stop the mortgage company from sending letters.
The debt was crushing. I was barely staying afloat, one paycheck away from losing everything. So every dollar mattered.
Until that fateful night that cut to the bone. The wind howled behind the restaurant like it had teeth, and the trash bags in my arms were already soaked through. I pulled my hoodie tighter, muttering curses under my breath.
The alley behind the building always smelled like sour grease and wet cardboard, but that night, something was different. Something moved near the dumpster. I stopped cold.
There, half-buried under a pile of damp blankets and cardboard, was a man. He looked barely conscious, knees pulled to his chest, shaking violently. His lips were tinged blue, eyes fluttering open like it physically hurt to do so.
“Sir?” I stepped closer, cautious but concerned. “Are you okay?”
He tried to speak, but only a croak came out. “No… just cold… so cold…”
I stood there for a second, torn between fear of what would happen if someone saw me, and the overwhelming instinct not to let this man freeze to death outside a kitchen full of leftover soup.
Screw it. “Come on,” I said, pulling him up carefully. “This way.
Quietly.”
He could barely walk. I took him through the back, moving fast, heart thudding. I could already hear my boss’s voice in my head — “You don’t bring street rats in here!”
I guided him to the supply closet near the break room.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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