Hope and Humiliations.

The tray in my hand trembled as I balanced three glasses of champagne. My arm ached from holding it up for too long, but I forced my smile to stay fixed. The restaurant was loud with laughter and music, a celebration of wealth and power I had no part in. My white uniform clung to my back, soaked with sweat. The other waiters moved like clockwork, but I was slower—too tired, too distracted.

Grandma’s voice echoed in my mind: “Nova, promise me you won’t give up, no matter how hard it gets.”

I didn’t. Even when I lost every scholarship I’d fought for, I didn’t break. When she fell sick and the bills kept piling, I took this job—serving people who probably wouldn’t look at me twice if I were dying in front of them.

I turned toward Table Seven when my eyes caught a familiar figure at the corner booth.

My breath froze.

It was him.

Mr. Baldwin.

Daniel’s father.

Sitting there in a tailored navy suit, gold cufflinks glinting under the dim lights, surrounded by men whose laughter could buy silence in any room. And sitting beside him—my father.

For a moment, my vision blurred. My father, who hadn’t looked at me in months. My father, who turned me away when I begged him to help Grandma.

I swallowed hard and tried to turn away before they noticed me.

But it was too late.

Mr. Baldwin’s sharp, calculating eyes caught mine, and a grin spread across his face.

“Well, look who we have here,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking. “The scholar turned server.”

My father turned his head, and his expression tightened. Shame flickered—briefly—then disappeared behind a mask of indifference.

I bowed slightly, the way we’d been trained. “Good evening, sir. What would you like to drink?”

Mr. Baldwin chuckled. “Oh, so polite. I’ll take a bottle of Macallan. And you, Mason?”

My father’s voice came out cold. “Same.”

I hurried away before the tremor in my voice could betray me. My pulse pounded in my ears as I reached the bar. My hands shook while uncorking the bottle. I didn’t want to go back. Not to them. But I had no choice.

Rent was due in three days. Grandma’s medication would run out tonight.

When I returned, I felt their eyes crawl over me like heat. I placed the glasses on the table.

Mr. Baldwin leaned back in his seat. “You know, Mason,” he said to my father, “she looks a lot like her mother. Beautiful woman, that one. Shame she didn’t live to see this.”

My father’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

I froze. My heart felt like it had been dipped in acid.

Mr. Baldwin turned to me with a lazy smirk. “Pour me a drink, sweetheart.”

I did, wordless.

When I finished, he motioned toward the cash sprawled across the table—thick bundles, maybe thousands. “Tell you what,” he said. “Drink with us. A few shots. If you can handle it, all this is yours.”

I blinked at the money. It was more than I’d make in six months.

“I don’t drink, sir.”

He chuckled. “Oh, come on. Just three shots. Don’t tell me you’re too good for us now.”

My father didn’t even look up. He lit a cigar instead.

I swallowed. “Please, I—”

“Five shots,” Mr. Baldwin interrupted, his voice darkening. “Five, and the money’s yours. I’ll even double it if you finish the bottle.”

My throat tightened. Five shots. That money could buy Grandma’s hospital time—maybe even a week more.

My hands curled into fists. You’ve done worse, Nova, I told myself. You’ve crawled through worse.

I reached for the glass.

Laughter rippled around the table. “There’s the spirit,” Baldwin said. “Maybe she’s not so uptight after all.”

The first shot burned down my throat like fire. The second left my lips numb. By the third, my vision wavered.

I forced myself through the fourth.

By the fifth, I was shaking. My heartbeat pounded in my temples. The room tilted slightly.

“Good girl,” Baldwin said, his grin widening. “Now, how about another—”

I stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the table. “No… I think I’m done.”

Something was wrong. The burn wasn’t just alcohol. It was heavier, duller. My skin prickled, and heat spread through my chest like wildfire.

Baldwin stood slowly. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Can’t handle your drink?”

I took a step back. “You… put something in it.”

He laughed. “Now, why would I do that?”

My father finally looked up. His gaze met mine, cold, empty. Not a word. Not a thing.

Baldwin moved closer, his hand reaching for my arm. “You could make a lot more than tips, Nova. Just say yes.”

I slapped his hand away so hard the glasses rattled.

For a split second, the table fell silent.

Then Baldwin’s expression turned to fury.

“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, my voice trembling but sharp. “Not you, not anyone.”

The other men chuckled uneasily, glancing at one another.

My father leaned back, exhaling smoke. “You’ve embarrassed me enough. Leave.”

That was all.

Not Are you okay?

Not What did he do to you?

Just Leave.

I backed away, breath shallow, eyes burning. My vision swirled from the drug or the alcohol—I didn’t know which.

Mr. Baldwin’s voice followed me as I staggered toward the kitchen doors. “You walk out that door, Nova, and you walk away from this money. From your grandmother’s life.”

I stopped for half a second. His words sliced deep.

Then I turned my head and said, “She taught me to live with dignity. Something money can’t buy.”

And I walked.

The night air hit me like ice when I stumbled into the alley behind the restaurant. I clutched the wall, breathing hard, trying not to collapse.

Tears pressed behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

I had come this far. Crawled through humiliation. And for what? For a father who watched me break and did nothing?

The sounds of laughter and music faded behind the door, swallowed by the night. I pulled off my apron, threw it to the ground, and kept walking.

My head spinned more and more, then suddenly..I fell and a hand caught me from behind and I passed out.