The next day, I walked into the company and saw Marvin Robertson giving me an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, but the job offer has been withdrawn," he said.

I was taken aback. "Why?"

He hesitated, nervously gesturing towards a corner of the room. "Our company has just been bought out. The new CEO said we can't hire you."

Following his gaze, sunlight poured through the blinds, forming a golden halo around the man seated in the leather executive chair.

He was tall and dressed in a tailored suit. His smoke-gray trousers met black socks tucked neatly at his ankles. Slowly, the chair turned to face me.

A strong nose, thin lips, striking brow, and deep-set eyes made up his face. His only accessory was a wristwatch worth a fortune, unmistakably showcasing his wealth.

Suppressing his anger, he spoke in a low voice. "Thalia Hansen, haven't you had enough? Your daughter is waiting for you at home."

His eyes swept over the company's outdated walls and old water cooler, a mocking smile on his lips. "Do you really believe you can make six thousand dollars a month here? I'm busy; I don't have time for these distractions."

I looked up at the man I'd been involved with from the age of twenty into my thirties, suddenly finding the situation amusing.

I heard my own calm voice say, "Why should I return? To play nursemaid to your girlfriend while she's recovering?"

"Harvey, I'm not that desperate."

Harvey rubbed his temples. "How many times have I explained? I was drunk that night. I don’t remember anything."

The sharp sound of high heels echoed in the room. The door opened slightly, and a pair of nude high heels stepped in.

Alison Wright, dressed in a business suit, her smoke-gray skirt revealing long, pale legs. Her curls draped over her shoulders, and her slightly rounded belly was the only sign that she was expecting, her figure still elegant.

She placed a file on Harvey's desk and spoke softly. "Mr. Kelly, here is the acquisition contract for your review."

The words hit me like a punch, and I took a deep breath to fight back the bitterness, fixing him with a cold stare. "Nice touch you have there. Bringing your pregnant lover to meet your ex-wife."

Harvey frowned, annoyed. "Alison is different from you. She's my top assistant. Who else would I bring to an acquisition meeting?"

He raised his eyebrows, giving me a patronizing look. "Oh, I forgot, you never worked, so you wouldn’t understand these things."

Each word was like a slap.

My heart felt weighed down, as if a wet cloth were pressed against it, aching deeply.

At eighteen, I was a rising star, the top student in my class. A bright banner with my name hung at the school entrance, and everyone knew who I was.

The neighbors' smiles shone brightly. "Thalia from the Hansen family is destined to be a community leader!"

At twenty-two, I was the student body president. I spoke at a major conference in Vienna, delivering a speech confidently in English before thousands.

Walking down campus paths, I would hear, "Look, it's Thalia Hansen, she's amazing!"

Now at thirty-five, how did my life come to this?

Alison looked up, her fresh face and gentle voice directed at me. "Thalia, don’t hold it against Mr. Kelly. We both drank too much at the company’s holiday party."

"I intended to end the pregnancy, but Mrs. Richards found out. When she took me for a checkup and learned it was a boy, she insisted on keeping it."

She caressed her belly with a smile. "You know how Mrs. Richards has always wanted Harvey to have a son. You couldn’t give her one. For years, Mr. Kelly bore that pressure for you."

A wave of absurdity swept over me.

I clutched my throat, the pain stinging like saltwater, leaving a raw sensation.

The sheer absurdity made me laugh bitterly. "Why couldn’t I have more children? That woman knows better than anyone."

"I’ve said it before, Haisley is my only daughter. I will only ever have her."

"Do whatever you want." Harvey stood up, towering over me at six-foot-two, completely enveloping me in his shadow.

His face was as dark as the relentless rain outside the window.

"When you were twenty, it was called playful caprice. At thirty, it’s no longer appealing. It's foolish."

He pronounced each word deliberately. "Thalia, think it over carefully."

I visited several more companies after that, but each time, Harvey managed to sabotage my efforts. My expertise is in the tech industry, a field where the Kelly family holds significant sway. He made it clear that any company bold enough to hire me would be excluded from next year's tech summit. This ultimatum made companies even more reluctant to consider me. As soon as the name "Thalia Hansen" was mentioned, HR representatives would abruptly hang up the phone.

Harvey called me, his voice slow and methodical: "Are you running out of money? Come back and apologize, and you can still be Mrs. Kelly." I clenched my fists tightly, my nails leaving deep marks on my palms, and I replied firmly, "Not a chance."

During our marriage, Harvey had given me a credit card with no spending limit. Jewelry, designer clothes, luxury handbags—it could cover it all. But cash was never an option. This marriage, this family, felt like a golden cage—luxurious and admired from the outside but suffocating within.

The next day, I stood in front of a cleaning service company. "Hourly wage is $12, with ten hours of work per day, paid daily. Cleaning locations vary according to client requests." A woman with tightly curled hair handed me a work uniform, eyeing me from head to toe: "Can someone like you, with a degree, handle physical labor?" I took the uniform and smiled, "Don't underestimate me. I can handle it."

My parents passed away when I was thirteen. To support myself and continue my education, I worked as a waitress at a local diner, washed cars at an auto repair shop, and sold clothes in a retail store. After I got together with Harvey, many people said, "Thalia, you and Harvey come from different worlds." I knew that. He hunted in the African savannas and witnessed the auroras in Scandinavia. Whenever he wanted to visit a place, they’d arrange for a private experience just for him.

Meanwhile, I hadn't left my small hometown until I turned eighteen. This decade-long marriage made me foolishly believe we could find happiness together, as in every fairy tale. But the story ended, and life moved on. It's about the daily grind, the mundane realities of everyday life. The difference in social class comes with its own subtle condescension and loss of voice. It’s like a fine layer of sand between Harvey and me. At first, it was just a minor irritation. But over time, those tiny grains became unbearable, eroding us slowly—unseen and inevitable.

I changed into the cleaning company’s uniform and looked at the woman in the mirror—without makeup and jewelry. She once wore the finest clothes, sipped champagne at glitzy events, and mingled with the elite. But whether as Mrs. Kelly or a cleaner, survival takes precedence over dignity.

During my second week at the new job, I was assigned to an art gallery. There was an exhibition that day, and the gallery specifically requested our company's cleaning services. Accompanying me was a teenager, probably in his mid-teens. He had a deep tan and was quite skinny, giving him a slightly undernourished appearance, yet his eyes were strikingly bright and lively, like stars in a night sky.

I asked, "How old are you?"

"Sixteen," he responded.

I chuckled, "No way. My daughter is twelve, and by the looks of you, you can't be more than thirteen."

The boy looked up in panic and pleaded, "Please don't report me. I worked really hard to get this job."

I gently shook my head, "I won't." After all, isn't everyone's early teenage years a bit of a struggle?

He sighed in relief and flashed a shy smile. For the next two hours, he stayed close, full of the boundless energy typical of teenagers.

"This metal bucket is too heavy; let me help you with it. And I'll hold the chair steady, so you don't fall."

I handed him a tissue, "Wipe your sweat. What's your name?"

"Ayden Hansen," he replied with a shy smile, then cautiously asked, "Ma'am, is it true you can't see out of your left eye?"

I was surprised, "How did you figure that out?"

For years, not even my husband or daughter had noticed.

Ayden gestured between the canvases, "You don't seem to judge distances quite right. Is it because of an illness that affects your left eye?"

I shook my head, "No, it was a gunshot wound I got while saving my ex-husband and daughter."

The boy's eyes widened, "They must be really grateful, right?"

I tried to smile, but my lips wouldn't cooperate, caught in some awkward position, "They've forgotten all about it."

I touched the prosthetic on my left side, feeling a pang of bitterness. They should have been the two closest to me, aware of the scars on my heart and my body—yet they knew nothing.

"Please don't cry, ma'am," Ayden stammered, awkwardly standing in front of me, his dark hands brushing away my tears.

Was I crying?

He puffed his cheeks, "It's their fault for being so inconsiderate! I'll help you carry things from now on, I'll help you judge distances—I'll be your eyes. And if anyone tries to give you a hard time, I'll help defend you!"

His innocent and sincere words warmed my heart, finally bringing a genuine smile to my face. "Alright, it’s a deal. From now on, Ayden will be my eyes. Let's shake on it—no backing out."

The boy's face lit up with a bashful grin as he hooked his little finger around mine, shaking it lightly, "Yes! Pinky promise, a hundred years, no changes!"