The Price of Survival

Adeline’s POV

One year Later,

“Happy birthday, baby”

I placed a single candle into the small cupcake sitting on the table and smiled at Oliver. My son clapped his tiny hands together, laughing as the flame flickered.

I wished I could freeze this moment forever.Just me and him with no worries, no bills and no fear. But reality waited on the other side of the apartment door. 

Three overdue rent notices sat on the counter. The electricity bill was due tomorrow and my refrigerator contained half a carton of milk, some eggs, and nothing else. 

The money Damien had thrown at me a year ago had helped me escape the motel and rent this tiny apartment, but it hadn’t lasted forever.

For twelve months, I'd worked every job I could find. Waitressing, cleaning offices, babysitting. Name it all.

But still, it was never enough. I looked at Oliver and felt my chest tighten. I had promised him I would figure it out. Instead, I was failing.

A knock sounded at the door but I already knew who it was. My landlord.

“Ms. Monroe,” he said when I opened it. “You have until Friday.”

“Please, give me one more week.”

“I’ve already given you three.”

When he left, I closed the door and slid to the floor. Oliver crawled over immediately and climbed into my lap. My sweet boy, my entire world.

And suddenly, I remembered Damien’s words. “Bring the baby back in one year.”

I had spent twelve months convincing myself I would never do it. Now I wasn’t so sure.

I barely slept that night. The next morning, I packed Oliver’s diaper bag with shaking hands.

Every instinct inside me screamed not to go. But what kind of mother was I if I couldn’t even give my child a stable home?

By 8:45 a.m, I was already standing outside the King’s Bar and Hotel. 

Oliver rested against my chest and my heart felt like it was breaking apart. “You deserve better than me.” I whispered.

I looked at the bar and tears almost came out of my eyes when I remembered I actually gave birth in here. Oliver’s little hand touched my face, and I smiled as I looked at him.

Even at such such a young age, it's so clear who his father is. He's Damien’s copy.

He smiled cutely, his one teeth looking funny in his gum. I kissed his cheeks, and he chuckled cutely, raising his hands in the air innocently as I entered the bar. 

Just like like year, Damien is sitting on that same seat, but right now he's looking richer and more handsome, wearing expensive brands, but his cold face is still same.

The bartenders were smiling at me from the stand, and I smiled sadky before walking to Damien.

I knocked his table before he looked up, and for the first time I'd known him, Damien looked stunned when he saw little Oliver obviously be of the uncanny resemblance.

He stood up slowly, still staring at the baby. 

“Here” I said, giving Oliver to him reluctantly.

Damien took him slowly, and the boy smiled at him too. “I think it's over now.” I said breaking the silence.

Damien didn't say a word to me. He called in a gy who looked like his personal assistant whom he made a gesture to. The guy packed the laptop and files on the table, then they left the bar together.

Oliver started crying, and my tears flowed as I watch Damien take him away. I squatted on my spot, and the bartenders joined me. “It's okay” they started patting me.

It might take years before I see Oliver again, or I might never even see him again. I stood when the realization hit me, and I rushed out of the bar. 

Damien was about to enter the car when I pulled him back. “Please, let me spend one more hour with Oliver before you take him.” I pleaded.

“I have work to do.” he replies blankly.

“Please, okay how about 30 minutes, I miss him already. Please let me just…”

“I said I have things to do. Apparently, I'm not jobless like you” he cut me off with a glare and my arms fell from him.

“You are heartless” I mutter hurtfully as tears rolled out of my eyes.

“Your gender taught me to be” he replied coldly and entered the car, driving away from me. 

“Oliverrrrrrrr” I cried out, sitting on the floor. 

The bartenders rushed out again, and when they saw me, they exchanged glances.

“I feel so sorry for her” one of the bartenders said sadly as they stared at me pitifully.

“Oliver, mommy is sorry. I muttered in tears, shaking with cold.” I stood up and started walking.

I stood alone on the sidewalk, my arms empty.

And for the first time in my life, I understood what it felt like to lose everything.

EIGHT YEARS LATER

Eight years have passed since the day I handed my son over. 

Life moved on. At least that’s what everyone believed. I have a job now, a small apartment, some friends, and a life.

But on May 10 of every year, I bought a cupcake and lit a candle. I made sure I wished my son a happy birthday from a distance.

"Table six is taking too much time to be served” Madam Brooke screamed from the kitchen taking me out of my thoughts.

“It’s almost ready!” I replied from the kitchen.

Two minutes later, I came out of the kitchen with the tray of food for that particular table, smiling as I walked there to serve. My hair is in a bun, and the blue apron looks like it was made for me. I caught my reflection in the stainless steel counter, same clear skin, same familiar face. Eight years had passed, but time hadn’t settled on me.

“You forgot to add wine,” the woman on the table said.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, will be right back” I apologized and rushed back to the cellar to get it.

It hasn’t been easy even after becoming a graduate, I still wasn’t able to get myself a good job that pays since then, so I had to settle for what I found here.

Tasty restaurant is one of the best around, and they get patronized well, so Madam Brooke pays all the servers well.

I got the wine and took it back to the table, then I returned to the kitchen but Madam Brooke blocked me. “You should rest now. Rest for five minutes before joining the others” she said and I smiled.

I laughed softly. “Yes, ma’am.”

My phone buzzed in my apron pocket. The smile on my face disappeared the moment I saw the caller ID.

Ethan. My husband.

I stared at the screen for several seconds before answering.

“What?” I asked quietly.

“Where are you?” His cold voice came through immediately.

“Work.” I replied.

“You’re late.”

“My shift doesn’t end for another hour.”

“I don’t care. Get home.” The line went dead after he said that. 

I slowly lowered the phone. Eight years ago, I thought losing Oliver was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.

I was wrong. Because eight years later, I was still surviving, still enduring and still trapped.

And tonight, I had to go home to the man I regretted marrying.