That week crawled by slower than any Sarah could remember. Each morning, she walked out of their tiny flat with renewed purpose. She would adjust her posture, lift her chin slightly higher, and practice the same radiant smile Vanessa had taught her in the mirror. She started paying more attention to her walk—the way her hips moved, the softness in her voice, the lingering gaze she gave customers. Still, no one seemed to notice her.
Not one lingering look. Not one flirty compliment. Not even a casual question about her name.
By Wednesday, the disappointment threatened to eat at her resolve. But she squared her shoulders, reminded herself that success didn't come overnight, and whispered under her breath, "You're going to change everything. No matter what."
On Friday afternoon, after a particularly exhausting shift, just as she was cleaning up the counter with a cloth soaked in lemon-scented disinfectant, a middle-aged man in a sleek navy suit approached His accent was local, posh, and crisp.
"Miss..."
She turned with a soft smile, eyes polite. "Yes, sir? Would you like anything else?"
He looked at her for a moment, his gaze dropping to her waist where the apron clung snugly to her curves. Then, without a word, he pulled out his wallet and placed a crisp £50 note on the counter.
"You're doing an excellent job. Thought you deserved a better thank-you."
Her eyes widened. "Oh... oh, thank you! That's very kind of you."
He only winked and walked off, the sound of his leather shoes fading behind the restaurant's closing door.
She stared at the money, her heart pounding. Fifty pounds. Just like that. Her very first win.
That evening, she didn't even hesitate. She took a bus to the nearest affordable grocery store, walking through the aisles with joy brimming in her chest. She picked fresh vegetables, chicken, rice, a little juice for the twins, and even some sweets. Nothing extravagant, but still more than they'd had in a while.
At home, Gloria looked up from her sewing when she walked in with two bags in her hands.
"Sarah... what's all this?"
The twins ran from the living room, their eyes wide as they peeked inside the bags.
"Chicken? Hannah squealed. "Mum! Real chicken!"
Gloria stepped forward, face wrinkled with confusion. "Sarah, where did you get money for this? Don't tell me you're borrowing again. We don't need more debt."
Sarah smiled, placing the bags on the table. "Mum, calm down. I didn't borrow. Sarah smiled, keeping her tone light. "Mum, calm down. I told you I've been praying for a breakthrough."
"Prayer is good, but you better not be stealing!" her mother scolded, half-joking but half-serious.
"No, Mum!" Sarah laughed, placing the bags on the counter. "One of the families that comes to the restaurant needed someone to look after their kids a few days a week. Rich white folks. They said I seemed quiet and responsible."
"Eh?" Gloria narrowed her eyes. "But when? You never told me about this."
"It just happened recently," Sarah replied smoothly. "I didn't want to say anything until it was real. I didn't even think they'd actually call me back."
"And they pay you like this?" Gloria opened the fridge as Sarah unpacked. "My God. Real meat. Chicken. Ah, we shall eat today."
Hannah rushed in from the small room she shared with Sarah. "What's all this? Sarah!"
Nicholas and Peter followed, eyes wide.
"Chicken! Is it Christmas?" Nicholas shouted.
Sarah laughed. "It's not Christmas, but today we eat like kings."
As she cooked, her family gathered around the tiny kitchen, talking and laughing for the first time in what felt like years. Gloria kept shaking her head, tears silently streaming down her face as she watched her daughter flip the chicken pieces in oil.
"You're becoming a woman, Sarah. A real woman. God will bless you," she whispered.
Sarah turned her face slightly to hide the guilt rising in her chest. She wasn't exactly lying. Just... reshaping the truth.
Later that night, as the others went to bed, Sarah sat on her mattress beside Hannah and stared at the ceiling.
I can do this, she thought. a little longer. Just until we're out of this life.
The next day, she got to work a few minutes early. The buzz of the morning crowd filled the restaurant as usual, and she dove into her tasks with practiced energy. Her new routine—flirt subtly, smile often, be sweet—was now part of her rhythm.
Just after midday, as she was clearing a table near the window, a familiar voice caught her attention.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, voice smooth like butter over warm toast. there he was, samson, the guy who gave her 100 pounds in her previous life
She approached, heart thudding.
"You work here every day?" he asked, his gaze never leaving her face.
Sarah opened her mouth to answer—
But then paused.