But then

He stopped.

"He just stopped."

He rolled away from me, onto his back, lying flat at the edge of the bed.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

I stayed still, stunned. My heart thudded in my chest as my thoughts spun with panic.

Why did he stop?

Did I do something wrong?

Did he see through me?

Did he sense the hesitation I tried to hide, the shame I couldn't scrub off no matter how many times I played pretend?

Maybe he could feel that I wasn't used to being touched like I mattered.

The minutes ticked by, thick and heavy. An hour passed, maybe more. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. He didn't say a word.

Just when I started to believe he'd fallen asleep, his arm reached out and wrapped around my waist. He pulled me into him, his chest warm against my back.

"Just sleep," he whispered, his voice like gravel in the dark. "I don't think I want to have sex with you."

My heart cracked.

The words weren't cruel, but they landed like a blade.

I sank.

Was it rejection?

Did I repulse him?

Or did he pity me?

Did he look at me and see the girl who was just surviving, who was trying too hard to seem okay?

Maybe I'd made him uncomfortable. Maybe I was stiff or awkward or maybe he saw through me in a way no one else had.

I didn't reply.

"I couldn't.

I just laid my head on his bare chest. His skin was warm. His heartbeat was steady.

And for the first time in years, I let myself stop pretending. I let myself feel safe.

No words. Just stillness.

Wrapped in the arms of a stranger who didn't want to use me.

And in that rare silence, somewhere between heartbreak and something I didn't have a name for, I finally drifted off to sleep.

The sound of the running water stirred me, from the bathroom, but my eyes remained shut. Moments later, I heard the door creak open. He stepped out, with a white towel slung low around his waist as he reached for his suit from the bed side and began to get dressed.

I finally sat up in bed, fixing my face into that blank expression unreadable. The one I used when I was sixteen and first learned what it meant to survive.

I didn't say a word as I raised and made my way to the bathroom. When she returned a few minutes later, she began pulling on her clothes in silence.

I stood, walked past him and entered the bathroom. I didn't even shut the door all the way. I just splashed cold water on my face, raised my mouth quickly, and avoided the mirror.

The girl staring back at me in there I hated her.

When I returned to the room, he was buttoning his shirt, tie slung around his neck. He didn't say anything. I didn't either.

I rummaged through my bag, searching for the nightgown I wore the night before. I found it and folded it neatly, but frowned when I realized something was missing.

Where are my panties?

I crouched beside the bed, checking beneath the pillows, under the mattress, even sweeping my hand under the bed frame. Nothing.

Then his voice cut through the silence.

"Are you looking for this?"

My heart stuttered.

I turned sharply, and there he was sitting casually on the edge of the bed, dangling my panties between his two fingers like it was some kind of trophy.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

My face burned. God. I rushed over and snatched it from him, too stunned to even speak.

He chuckled.

And for the first time I noticed the curve of a smile on his lips.

He hadn't smiled yesterday.

Is he mocking me now?

"You don't have to feel embarrassed, sweetie," he said, voice annoyingly smooth. "Don't forget I was the one who took it off."

That was it.

I snapped inside. Like something cold cracked in half.

Embarrassed? Sweetie? He thought this was funny?

If there was one thing I couldn't stand more than being broke, it's being mocked and that was exactly what he was doing.

I shoved my feet into my heels, grabbed my bag, and moved toward the door. He had already paid madam Rose far more than her usual rate. And yet he hadn't even had sex with me.

Not that I ever liked the sex. Sometimes, I cried through it.

I was almost at the door when his voice came again.

"Wait."

I stopped but didn't turn. Not right away.

I didn't want to hear another smug comment.

When I turned, he was walking toward me, one hand extended holding what looked like a business card.

I hesitated, staring at him warily. "What's that?"

"Take it," he said softly.

I stepped closer, but didn't take it.

"What, you want me to be your personal sex worker?" I snapped, pain tightening my throat. "Even though you didn't have sex with me last night just because you weren't in the mood?"

I hated that I'd said that. Hated that I sounded hurt. But I was. I didn't even know why. It wasn't like I had any right to feel disappointed.

I shook my head quickly, like I could rattle the shame out of me.

"Don't think I'm doing this because I want to... or because I enjoy it," I added, my voice trembling. "I don't have a choice."

My eyes burned, and before I could stop it, the tears came. I just hate how I cried easily.

"Hey," he said gently, "you should listen to what I have to say before jumping to conclusions."

His voice was calm.

"I don't want anything from you. You have paid more than you should have, but I"

My breath caught when he interrupted.

"I want you to be a Mom to my daughter"

My breath hitched.

"What?" I whispered.

I blinked once. Twice. My heart slowed, then picked up again in rapid thumps.

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep inside me.

Yes you heard me right.

"There's an upcoming kindergarten family event at my daughter's school," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets like he was just asking for the time. "And she needs someone to play the role of her mom. Just for that day."

I froze.

A mom?

His daughter's mom?

He had a daughter?

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I blinked, trying to make sense of it, but my brain felt sluggish, like it couldn't compute what he just said.

Who in their right mind would want a bar waitress, a sex worker to act as a mother figure, even if it is just for a day?

It sounded like a twisted joke.

"I..." I stammered, feeling the ground tilt beneath me. "Why me? Why would you want me to be a mom to your daughter?"

My voice cracked on the word "mom."

I wasn't even sure what shocked me the most, finding out he had a child, or that he wants me to pretend to be a Mom to his child.

"I just want you to be a mom to my daughter."

He repeated it, like it was nothing. Like he was asking me to hand him a napkin or lend him a cigarette. But I knew better. There was something behind his words. Something he was hiding.

A chill crawled up my spine.

What if he wants to hurt me?

"I'm not interested," I said firmly, my voice sharp with finality. I turned on my heel, went to grab my earrings, which I had left earlier in the bathroom. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I wasn't surprised to find the creepy man had left.

I grabbed my bag and walked out, not bothering to look back.

He must've figured out I knew about his plan.

The thought made me nauseous. What if I'd fallen for it? Played the part of the sweet pretend mom, followed him into his world, only to disappear into it like all those girls you hear about on the news?

I shivered.

But Madam Rose wouldn't hand me over to someone dangerous. Not willingly.

At least... I hoped not.

The bar pulsed with music and lights. My eyes scanned the crowd until I spotted Madam Rose in the distance.

The woman was a spectacle elegant in her early sixties with long curly hair cascading over her shoulders. Her makeup was always flawless, her nails perfectly fixed, and her lips gleamed with red gloss. She wore a tight, leather gown adorned with tiny sparkling studs, the kind of outfit that drew attention.

If you didn't know her age, you might think she is still in her thirties.

Each step Madam Rose took commanded the room. Everyone at the bar knew she was the owner. People might expect her to be stern, but she was far from it. She treated her customers with warmth and respect. That is why the bar was always packed to the brim.

I smiled as I approached her. Among all the waitresses and sex workers, Madam Rose had a soft spot for me. She knew I didn't enjoy the job, hell, she probably saw it in my eyes the very first day, but she also knew I needed the money. And she made sure I earned well.

"Madam Rose," I called, trying to keep my voice steady.

She turned, a brilliant smile spreading across her lips as her eyes landed on me. "Kayla, darling," she purred, her voice smooth like warm honey.

"Do you need a drink?" She asked me with a playful smile.

"No, Madam," I replied.

"So, how was it?" Madam Rose asked knowingly. Her smile faded a little, sensing the tension. She always knew I returned from those rooms with a heavy heart.

If only I had a degree. I could've had a better job...

"He paid well more than usual," Madam Rose said flatly."

She laughed, clearly impressed.

"Yes! I was honored to have him in my bar last night. Damien Cole is a real gentleman."

Damian Cole. The name echoed in my mind. It sounded familiar, but I pushed the thought away.

Still... there was something about him that didn't sit right.

"He's kind of... creepy," I murmured.

"He's not," Madam Rose replied firmly. "You only think so. Did he do something to you?"

"No... I mean" my words were cut off when Madam Rose's phone rang.

"We'll talk over the phone, dear," Madam Rose said, already walking away to take the call.

I sighed, my mood darkening again as I walked out of the bar, ignoring the lustful stares from the men loitering around, their hungry eyes tracking my every step.

I stepped out of the cab, tossed a few crumpled bills at the driver, and slammed the door behind me. The gate creaked as I pushed it open, and I dragged my feet toward my apartment, every step heavier than the last.

"Hey, sis!" Amaya called from the doorway, her usual too-cheerful tone scraping my nerves. She leaned in to kiss my cheek.

I jerked back. "Back off," I muttered without looking at her.

Her smile faltered, but she didn't say anything. She never did anymore. She was used to this version of me.

I walked past her and headed straight to the kitchen. My throat was dry, raw from holding back too many words I never got to scream. I opened the fridge and grabbed the coldest bottle I could find. The chill bit into my palm, grounding me for a second.

Amaya hovered nearby, silent.

I poured the water into a glass and drank like I hadn't had a drop in days. The coolness slid down my throat, but it did nothing to quench the fire that burned beneath my skin.

I could feel her watching me. I always could. She looked at me like I was some kind of tragic warrior, bruised and worn from battle. But she didn't understand. She couldn't. No one could.

Still, her eyes told the whole story. Guilt, and pain.

She knew what I did to keep this roof over our heads. She knew the nights I came home broken weren't just bad dreams, they were the price of survival. She knew. And that made it worse.

Because I didn't want her pity.

If it were up to me to decide, Kayla would never have to take that kind of job.

She wouldn't have to come home with tired eyes and broken silences. She wouldn't have to smile through pain or pretend like everything was okay when it clearly wasn't.

Kayla's always insisted on being the provider, no matter how hard it was.

But I know it's not easy for her.

I hear her cries through the thin walls. I see how she stares into space some nights, eyes wide open like sleep has forgotten her.

If only Dad weren't dead...

If only Mom weren't fighting for her life, each heartbeat would be a gamble.

Then maybe Kayla wouldn't have to shoulder so much alone. Maybe we'd be normal. Maybe she'd be free.

"Hey, Amaya," her voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I blinked, startled. "I thought you were ignoring me."

"I wasn't. Not until I saw you completely lost in thought."

"Oh." I scratched the side of my head, awkwardly.

"You were probably thinking about your upcoming exams?" she asked gently.

"Yeah... I guess," I mumbled.

The truth was, I was thinking about her.

"Try your best to pass, okay?" she said, her voice soft and warm.

"I will. Even if it's just for your sake, for how hard you try every day." I gave her a small smile, and to my surprise, she smiled back.

That made something tight in my chest ease, just a little.

She always looked at me like I was her entire world. And sometimes, it felt like I was.

KAYLA

Amaya was strikingly beautiful. She had a narrow, straight nose, bold eyes that carried an unspoken fire, and long, dark hair that cascaded past her shoulders like a silken waterfall. At just eighteen, she was a high school senior who always stood out, brilliant, and determined. She consistently earned gold medals at the end of every term, making the whole school know her name.

I had made a silent promise to myself, Amaya would never drop out of school, not like I did. She would finish her education, get a degree, and live a life better than the one I was barely surviving.

I loved my little sister more than words could ever express.

"Where's Mom?" I asked.

"She's taking a nap," Amaya replied. I set my glass down with a light clink. And picked up my bag from the kitchen island, along with the half-empty bottle of water.

"I'll be in my room," I added, disappearing down the hallway.

I walked into my room, dropped my bag on the bed, and headed straight for my drawer without even taking off my shoes. My fingers went straight to the packet of contraceptive pills tucked beneath some random receipts and an old phone charger. I didn't think twice. I popped two into my mouth and swallowed them down with a gulp of water.

I hadn't had sex with him, not last night.

But I am used to this routine now. After every shift at the bar, I took them. It was my way of reclaiming some control. A habit I no longer questioned. Just another part of surviving.

The door creaked open behind me.

"So, what did you get for me?" Amaya's voice chimed in as she walked in without knocking, already digging into my bag like it belonged to her.

I sighed, not bothering to turn around. "I wasn't really in the right frame of mind coming back home. I didn't get you anything."

Amaya pouted behind me. I could hear it in her voice. "Why do you look so off?"

I didn't answer.

She kept rummaging for a second, then froze. "And what's this? Whose is it?"

I turned around. "What is what?"

She held up a card between two fingers like it was a dirty tissue. "It's a card. I found it in your bag."

"A card?" My stomach dropped as I snatched it from her hand. I didn't even look at it before I snapped, "What?! That creepy ass man dared to slip this into my bag?"

My hands tightened around the edges of the card as I flipped it over. Just a name, phone number, and an email address.

"What the fuck," I muttered, jaw clenching. "Now he seems even more creepy and annoying."

"What's wrong?" Amaya's voice shifted, more serious now.

"There's this man that came into the bar yesterday," I said, still staring at the card. "He asked me to spend the night with him. Then out of nowhere, he said he wanted me to pretend to be a mom to his daughter. Just for a day. Said there's some school event coming up, and he needs someone to be her mom."

Amaya blinked. "A mom? To his daughter? Who even is this guy? I don't get it."

I tossed the card onto the bed like it burned my fingers. "I don't know who the hell he thinks he is, but he was too calm about the whole thing. Like it wasn't even weird."

"You didn't accept the job?"

I shook my head.

Amaya sat down on the edge of the bed and tilted her head. "But just think about it... Being a mom for a day or two? That actually sounds way more decent than your work. At least you'd get a break from the bar."

She had a point. I hated that she had a point.

"And why didn't you go for it?" she continued. "Was the pay too small?"

"No, that's not it." I looked down at the floor, swallowing the bitter lump in my throat. "But who would want a..."

"A what?" Amaya pressed. "Ohhh... Is that why you think he's creepy?"

I didn't answer. Not because I didn't have a response, but because I didn't want to say it out loud. I didn't want to admit that deep down, I didn't think I was good enough for a pretend role like that.