Every step repeated the same thought in her mind:
That was it. That was my chance.
The interview had been at 10:00 a.m. sharp — a nursing position at a private medical center with real benefits, stable hours, and a salary that could finally give her and her seven-year-old son room to breathe. She had prepared for weeks. Practiced answers in the mirror. Printed extra copies of her résumé.
And then she saw the elderly woman collapse on the subway platform.
Hannah hadn’t hesitated.
By the time the ambulance arrived and she finished giving her statement to paramedics, it was nearly noon.
Opportunity doesn’t wait.
Neither does rent.
At their apartment, the faint smell of reheated tomato soup lingered in the air. The place was small but neat — second-floor walk-up, chipped paint near the window, curtains Hannah had sewn herself.
She placed her folder gently on the kitchen table. The papers slid halfway out, as if they were trying to remind her they still mattered — even if the future they promised had slipped away.
Ethan dropped his backpack beside a chair and climbed onto it, his sneakers dangling.
“Mom,” he asked carefully, “are you upset?”
Hannah forced a soft smile.