With these credentials, I’ll be frank with you, Miss Knowles—we don’t have a position for you here.” The recruiter barely glanced at me as she slid my résumé back across the desk. “You might want to try applying for blue-collar work,” she continued briskly. “Janitorial services. Kitchen assistant positions.” I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the thin paper. “We value honesty in this company,” she added, her tone cooling further, “and given the scandal you were involved in, I don’t believe you’re the right fit. I don’t think I can trust you.” The meeting was over before I could even nod. As I stepped out of the building, I released a long, weary sigh, the echo of rejection clinging to me like a second skin. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard those words—and I knew, with quiet certainty, it wouldn’t be the last. I had tried. God, how I had tried. I went from office to office, résumé in hand, rehearsing smiles and answers, hoping—foolishly—that someone would see past my n
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