Crumbs and crossroads

My cancer is getting worse,” my mum said softly.

I froze.

The wooden spoon I was holding slipped into the pot with a soft splash. I turned, my heart slamming in my chest.

Grace, my mum gave me a tired smile. “They want to start a stronger round of treatment. The drugs are expensive, Zara. But we’ll figure something out. I crossed the room in three quick strides and sank beside her. There has to be something else. A foundation, or charity, or.., “We’ve tried them all,” my mum said, gently patting my hand. “Don’t stress yourself, sweetheart. I can manage. Manage? I snapped, my voice cracking. You couldn’t even get out of bed this morning. I saw her trying to get up twice and couldn’t till she tried the third time. My mother’s silence was answer enough. I rested my forehead against Grace’s shoulder. The quiet hum of the room suddenly felt louder, heavier. I’ll find the money,” I whispered, I promise, making that promise was scary for me because I had no idea where I would get the money from. I never wanted this life for you, my mum said. “You deserve better than constantly surviving. I swallowed the lump in my throat, So do you.

That night i hugged my pillow and cried myself to sleep, why do all these keep happening , my mum doesn’t deserve this, I seriously can’t function without her. I cannot imagine life without her, she is literally all I have.

The next day at work, the stench of over-brewed coffee clung to my uniform, a Green striped shirt and a pair of jeans, as I weaved through the cramped tables of Brew Haven, the rundown café I have worked at for nearly a year. The place had once tried to be charming a little hole in the wall coffee shop tucked into a sleepy Brooklyn block, but time had stripped it of its soul. The cushions sagged, the ceiling fans groaned, and the espresso machine coughed like an old man with a pack-a-day habit.

I literally moved like a living corpse all day. My shoes, once white sneakers had turned an ashy gray from months of overuse. The sole peeled slightly at the tip of my right foot, and the arch support was long gone. Every shift left my feet aching, but I kept going. Because I had to.

A table of college kids snapped their fingers, laughing obnoxiously. I turned with the tired smile I’d perfected and made my way over.

"Can we get some actual hot coffee? This is, like, ice cold," one of them said, pushing his cup toward me without making eye contact. I took the cup, nodded politely, and turned back toward the counter.

Ben, my boss, sat in the corner booth like he always did nursing a black coffee that had gone cold an hour ago, flipping through an ancient newspaper, and pretending not to notice how busy I was.

“Ben,” I called gently as she walked past, “the heater in the back is out again.”

“Put on a sweater,” he replied without looking up.

I didn’t bother responding. There was no use arguing with a man who thought paying her minimum wage and late was a favor. I knew he meant well in his own way. But goodwill didn’t cover rent. Or, more pressingly, medical bills.

I pulled my phone from the pocket of my apron during a lull in orders and checked my messages. The screen was cracked, and my fingers subconsciouly hovered over my mother’s name.

Three missed calls from the hospital. My stomach sank.

The sound of the bell above the door jolted me, and I had to force myself back into motion. The rest of my shift dragged by in a haze of lukewarm lattes, forced smiles, and aching legs.

When I finally clocked out, I pulled my coat tightly around me and stepped out into the biting November wind. The sun had long since dipped behind the skyline, and Brooklyn’s streets were washed in orange streetlight and the occasional glow from a storefront window.

I finally got to my one bedroom apartment and met my mum on the couch. Hi, baby, my mum said softly. I forced a grin. Hi, Mum. How are you feeling? My mum lifted a frail shoulder. “Like I could bench press a kitten.” I laughed, my first real laugh since the start of the day, though it was weak and cracked in the middle.

Later that night, while my mum slept, I sat on my bed staring at the pile of overdue bills. I opened my laptop and re-checked my email. More rejections. A few “We regret to inform you” and several no replies at all.

I had a degree in Business Management. I had ambition. But neither of those things fed my mother. I feel like a failure, when is my happiness going to come, I’m so sick and tired of it all. I cover my face with my hands before a message notification popped up from Nadia, my best friend since freshman year. I clicked it open.

Nadia: "Don’t judge me, but hear me out. Just look. I know you wouldn't want to do it but the money is a lot and I know you need it. You don't even need to do it again.

Below the message was a link to a private escort arrangement forum: Clean. High-end. Discreet. One night. $3,000 guaranteed.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

NO. I replied to Nadia immediately 

Why would I even do something like that, I have never done that before, to have sex with someone I don't know, that is so beneath me, I have known Nadia for such a long time and I'm so disappointed she even thinks I would do this

Some minutes go by and I stare at the message again and think to myself how much this money could actually help me... I've been working so hard, taking multiple jobs and shifts and I  still haven't gotten anywhere close in the payment but this money could cover a great deal

"Well, it's not like I'm going to be the first to do this", I quickly snapped out of that thought "I just can't see myself doing it"

but it's just a night, maybe I could... just maybe...