Kayla’s POV
Sarah stood up from her chair, towering over me with her heels.
“You think you’re so damn righteous, don’t you? You sat up in your high horse and judged me, called me a whore, told me I had no soul just because I work for my money! But what did you do the second things got hard? You opened your legs for a billionaire, got paid cash, and then had the absolute nerve to lie straight to my face and your mother’s face like a coward!”
People nearby were starting to stare and record, but I didn’t give a damn.
“I did it to save her life!” I yelled, my voice cracking, tears of fury springing back into my eyes.
“I didn’t do it because I wanted to brag about it, or use people like inventory the way you do!
You have zero loyalty, Sarah!
You couldn’t stand the fact that I actually had a real reason, while you just sell yourself for loose change and designer bags!”
”Fuck you, Kayla!” Sarah shouted, her face flushing bright red with genuine anger as she pointed a finger right in my face.
“You think you’re better than me?! You’re living in the exact same gutter! You’re just a lying, hypocritical whore . Don’t you ever walk up to my face and try to act like you’re clean, because you’re just as dirty as the rest of us!”
The insult hung in the hot afternoon air, sharp and ugly.
For a second, I wanted to lunge at her.
I wanted to grab her by her hair.
But looking at her..seeing how bitterly empty and toxic she had become…I realized something,.
Fighting her wasn’t going to fix my mom.
Shouting at her wasn’t going to buy back my dignity.
I straightened my posture, wiping the remaining tears from my face with the back of my hand.
I forced every out every sign weakness out of my body, staring straight into her eyes with a cold, glare.
“Keep your money, Sarah. Keep your bitterness, and keep your miserable life,” I said, my voice calm, cutting right through her anger.
“Because at least when I look in the mirror, I know why I did what I did. You? You’re just a bitter, lonely girl who can’t stand seeing anyone else survive.”
Before she could fire back another curse word, I turned and walked away.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t care what she screamed after me.
My mother hated me, my best friend was dead to me, and the world was crashing down all around me.
But as I walked down that crowded street with my head held high, I knew one thing for certain: I was going to survive this.
No matter how much it cost me.
The world didn’t stop turning just because my life fell apart.
My mother wasn’t speaking to me, my money was running low, and the rent was coming up.
I needed a job right now.
I spent three days walking into every shop, restaurant, and office along the streets with a printed CV.
Most places slammed the door in my face or told me they were not hiring.
But on the fourth day, luck finally came my way.
I walked past Glow & Grace, a big elite makeup studio right in the middle of the city’s fashion district.
The place smelled like vanilla, fresh roses, and designer perfume.
Through the glass windows, I could see white marble counters, glowing ring lights, and stylists working on wealthy clients.
Normally, someone looking as tired as I did wouldn’t even step foot inside a place like that.
But desperation makes you brave, they say.
I walked straight up to the front desk, and asked to speak to the manager, and the lady told me to wait and went inside.
A few minutes later she came out with an elegant looking woman- The manger
To my surprise, the manager, a sharp woman named Brenda looked at my worn shoes, looked at my tired eyes, and gave me a chance.
“We need a receptionist,” Brenda told me, tapping her nails against the counter.
“You will answer phones, manage client bookings, and keep this front desk running.
We do not tolerate drama, and we deal with very high-profile clients.
Keep your head down, do your job well, and you have a week of trial.
Understand?”
”Yes, ma’arm,” I replied, my heart lifting with joy for the first time in weeks.
“You won’t regret this.”
My first week at Glow & Grace makeup studio was a relief.
It was hard work standing for hours, greeting clients, and managing schedules, but it kept my mind off my mother’s silence towards me.
By the end of my first week, I finished my shift and caught the bus home.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in purple and orange.
When I unlocked my apartment door, a wave of warmth hit me.
I had a job and I was earning my own money. Find the original chapter at g.com.
I should call Mom, I thought.
Even though she had chased me out, a stubborn part of my heart still hoped time had cooled her anger.
I dropped my bag, pulled out my phone, and dialed her number.
Rinng… Rinng… Rinng…
It rang out.
No answer.
I tried again.
Straight to voicemail.
A heavy lump formed in my throat.
She was still ignoring me.
She couldn’t even bear to hear my voice.
The spark of hope was gone, leaving me alone in the apartment.
“Stupid,” I muttered, wiping a tear away.
Then, a strange, burning smell drifted into my nose.
Oh, no.
I had put a noodles on the gas and forgot about it.
I ran into the kitchen.
The pot was dry, blackened at the bottom, and thick black smoke was rising toward the ceiling.
I rushed forward, turned off the gas, and coughed as I waved my hands to clear the air, opening the small window.
The noodles were completely ruined, turned into a black brick.
I sat down on the kitchen floor, pulled my knees to my chest, and cried.
I had a job, but at the end of the day, I was still completely alone.