Chapter 8

Starting over felt like standing at the edge of a cliff—scared, unsure, but with no choice but to jump.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the sunlight peeking through the faded curtains. My chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, but I whispered to myself, “You didn’t come here to fail, Melinda. You came to fight.”

I stood up slowly, stretching limbs that felt stiff from sleep and stress. I made my way to the bathroom with quiet steps.

The cold water on my face woke me up more than the mirror did. I splashed it over my cheeks a few times, letting it drip down before grabbing a towel. I brushed my teeth, bathed quickly, and tied my hair into a neat bun. No makeup. No perfume. Just clean and ready.

I pulled on my black slacks, a simple white blouse, and flats. Nothing flashy. Just enough to look serious. A plain outfit, but one that made me feel composed. I picked up my file of documents—resume, portfolio, references—and tucked it carefully under my arm.

I exhaled.

“Let’s go,” I whispered again, this time a little stronger.

The cab ride was quiet. I didn’t feel like talking. I just stared out the window, watching the buildings pass like strangers in a new world. Cars honked. People crossed the streets in a hurry. The city was alive, but I felt like I was floating beside it.

When the driver stopped in front of Stratos Design Group, I paid him and stepped out. The building stood tall, wrapped in glass and metal. Sleek. Modern. A place that whispered success and smelled of ambition.

Inside, the lobby buzzed with quiet footsteps, phones ringing softly, and the steady hum of typing. Everyone moved with purpose. I walked up to the reception desk where a woman sat behind a polished white counter, her fingers moving across a keyboard.

She looked up and smiled.

“Good morning. Welcome to Stratos Design Group. Do you have an appointment?”

“Hi,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “I don’t, actually. My name is Melinda Hayes. I’m a graduate of Architecture with some experience. I moved into town a few weeks ago and was hoping to know if there’s any opening. Or maybe I could speak to someone from HR… or leave my portfolio?”

She looked at me kindly, then glanced at her computer screen.

“I’m sorry, we’re not hiring at the moment,” she said with sympathy. “We usually accept digital submissions through our website.”

I nodded, trying to hide the sting behind my polite smile. “Right. That makes sense…”

She suddenly paused. Her eyes flicked back to the screen. “Hold on a second.”

Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard. Her expression changed—subtle, but noticeable. Then she looked up again, a hint of surprise on her face.

“You’re lucky,” she said. “Ms. Barron from HR has a ten-minute window right now. Take the elevator to the fourth floor. Left hallway. First glass door.”

My heart jumped.

“Thank you so much,” I breathed.

She gave a quick nod. “Good luck!”

The elevator ride felt like it lasted hours, even though it was only a few seconds. My grip tightened on the file in my hands. I straightened my shoulders and tried to steady my breath.

When the doors opened, I stepped out, turned left, and counted the doors until I reached the one she described.

A glass door with a gold nameplate.

I knocked gently.

“Come in,” a woman’s voice said.

I pushed the door open and walked in. A woman in a navy-blue suit sat behind a sleek desk, typing something. She looked up and studied me for a moment.

“You’re Melinda Hayes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, standing straight.

“Have a seat,” she said, pointing at the chair across from her.

I sat down and handed her the portfolio without her asking. She took it, opened it, and began flipping through the pages.

“You studied Architecture?”

“Yes. I graduated from Silverline Institute. I’ve worked on a couple of commercial and residential designs back home.”

“What kind of software do you use?”

“AutoCAD, SketchUp, Revit… I’m also learning Rhino.”

She nodded slowly, still flipping.

“Why did you move here?”

I paused. “Fresh start. Life back home wasn’t going the way I wanted. I needed a change. A challenge.”

She kept flipping pages. Her face didn’t give anything away—just quiet concentration.

“Well, we’re not hiring at the moment,” she finally said, closing the file. “But I’ll keep this. You might want to check your email in two days. If anything opens up, we’ll let you know.”

I stood, trying not to let the disappointment show.

“Thank you for the opportunity,” I said quietly.

She gave a small nod. “Good luck, Ms. Hayes.”

I walked out of the office and into the hallway with slow, thoughtful steps. I hadn’t gotten the job, but something inside me didn’t feel defeated.

Maybe it was the way she flipped through my portfolio. The questions she asked. The fact she kept my file.

Maybe it was just hope.

Either way, I wasn’t done yet.

Four Days Later

I sat on the floor in my tiny apartment, sipping a warm mug of coffee and scrolling through job boards on my phone. The city outside was already moving, but I hadn’t even put on shoes yet.

A small fan buzzed in the corner. The only sound in the room.

Then—ping!

My phone vibrated in my hand.

I stared at the screen.

A new message.

My breath caught.

My fingers hovered over the screen for a second, heart thudding. Then I tapped the message with shaking hands.