I stared at myself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of the pale blue blouse I found buried in the back of my closet. It smelled like old ambition and stale hope, but it would have to do. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my slacks, took a deep breath, and tied my hair back as if I meant business.
Today had to be different.
For the past year, my life had been a slow, humiliating downward spiral. Every job application ended in silence. Every interview, if I was lucky enough to get one, felt like a punch to the gut. Too little experience. Too soft-spoken. Too... something.
Every time I came home empty-handed, I saw it in my dad's face. The disappointment he tried to hide. The way his eyes lingered on the stack of bills and the tightening of his jaw. He never said it outright, but I knew I was making things worse.
"You have a degree, Sophia," he snapped last week, his voice low but sharp like broken glass. "So use it. You're not a kid anymore."
I didn't answer him that night. I just went to my room and cried into my pillow like I was sixteen again.
Mom would've known what to say. It's been four years since cancer took her, but some days I still catch myself expecting her voice to call from the kitchen. Her loss hit us hard, but it broke Dad the most. He never fully came back from it. Now it's just me and him, sometimes strangers in the same house, orbiting around pain we don't know how to share.
But today... Today I'm doing something. I'm walking out that door and finding something real. Something that proves I'm not a burden. That I can carry my weight.
I found the listing last night: Legal Assistant – District Attorney's Office, King County.The words practically glowed on my laptop screen. Not glamorous, but solid. Government job. Stability. Meaning. I don't even care if I'm just fetching coffee and filing papers—I just want to feel useful again.
Downstairs, I heard the front door close. Dad had probably gone out to the garage to work on the busted lawnmower again. I wasn't even sure if he was fixing it or just avoiding me.
I grabbed my folder—résumé printed on slightly creased paper, references I wasn't even sure would answer the phone—and headed for the door.
"Wish me luck, Mom," I whispered, glancing at the framed photo by the hallway shelf. She smiled back at me, forever frozen in that summer sundress, holding me as a baby on the beach.
The sun was barely up, and the air was sharp with spring chill as I stepped outside. I didn't know what would happen today. Maybe I'd get rejected again. Maybe they'd laugh behind their desks at the girl with the nervous voice and unpolished shoes.
But maybe… just maybe… this was the start of something. The first step out of this fog I've been trapped in.
I pulled my coat tighter, lifted my chin, and walked to the bus stop.
It was time to fight for my place in the world.