The morning sun poured weakly through the hospital window, its light landing on the wrinkled bedsheet where Mia's mother lay still, her eyes covered with white bandages.
"Mom," Mia whispered, touching her hand gently.
Her mother smiled faintly. "Mia, you're here."
"Always," she replied, forcing her voice to sound steady. But inside, she was breaking again. The doctor's words still echoed in her head 'She may never see again.'
She blinked back tears and smiled. "I'll take care of you, Mom. I promise."
Her mom's fragile fingers squeezed hers. "You shouldn't worry about me, honey. You're still young. You deserve to live, to smile again."
Mia bit her lip. "How can I smile when you're here, like this?"
Her mom sighed softly. "Because I need to know that my little girl hasn't given up."
Mia lowered her head, letting the tears fall quietly where her mother couldn't see them.
Later that day, Mia walked home through the busy streets, her sneakers soaked from puddles. Her phone buzzed it was her landlord again. She didn't even open the message. She already knew what it said: "Pay your rent or leave."
When she reached the tiny apartment, it felt emptier than ever. The small table, the broken lamp, the scent of her dad's cologne still clinging to the curtains it all felt like a ghost she couldn't escape.
She sat on the floor and pulled her knees close, whispering to herself, "I'll find something. Anything."
The next few days became a blur of rejection and exhaustion.
She applied at cafés, shops, and restaurants. Everyone wanted experience or someone older. Some just stared at her with pity, others didn't even bother to answer.
By the fourth day, she barely had enough money for food. She skipped breakfast and lunch, saving the last ₦500 for her mom's medicine.
When evening came, the sky darkened again, and rain began to fall. Mia ducked under a bus stop shelter, cold and drenched. She saw the same flyer again the one from the bar pinned to a streetlight.
Something in her refused to give up.
She stood, trembling, and walked back to the bar.
Inside, loud music, laughter, and cigarette smoke filled the air. Mia's heart thumped as she approached the counter again.
"Please," she said softly, "I came here before. About the job."
The same man—bald, gruff, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth looked at her again.
"I told you, girl, we're not hiring someone like you."
"Please, I can do anything. I'll clean tables, wash dishes—"
He slammed the register shut. "You don't belong here. Go home before someone takes advantage of that pretty face."
The words stung more than she expected. She turned away quickly before he could see the tears forming.
Outside, the rain had turned heavy.
She pressed her back to the wall beside the bar, trembling from both the cold and her collapsing hope. For a moment, she thought of giving up completely. Maybe she could beg. Maybe she could sell what little she owned. Anything to keep her mom alive.
Then she heard a voice again—the same one from the other day. Calm. Refined. Familiar.
"Still looking for work, are you?"
Mia looked up, blinking rain from her lashes. The woman was there again—an umbrella over her head, her gray hair pinned neatly, her perfume faint and expensive.
Mia nodded weakly. "Yes. But I don't think anyone wants me."
The woman smiled in a way that felt both kind and mysterious. "I do."
Mia frowned. "You said something before… about a job?"
"Yes." The woman extended her hand slightly. "My name is Mrs. Lawrence. I'm looking for a live-in maid."
"Live-in?" Mia repeated. "Where?"
"At my son's home. He needs help… though he doesn't believe he does."
"Why me?" Mia asked softly. "You don't even know me."
Mrs. Lawrence studied her closely. "Because you look like someone who understands pain."
Mia's breath caught.
Mrs. Lawrence continued, "My son was in an accident. He hasn't walked since. He hates nurses, hates caretakers, hates...well, most people. But I can't care for him alone anymore. He needs someone gentle but strong. Someone patient."
Mia hesitated. "And he'd agree to this?"
Mrs. Lawrence chuckled lightly. "He won't. That's why I need someone brave enough to stay even when he pushes them away."
The silence between them was filled by the sound of rain and distant thunder.
Mrs. Lawrence reached into her purse and handed Mia a small card.
"Come tomorrow morning," she said. "I'll send a car to pick you up."
Mia stared at the card, Lawrence Estateprinted in gold letters.
It didn't even sound real. A mansion? A maid? This could be her only chance to save her mother.
She looked up again to thank her, but Mrs. Lawrence was already gone, leaving her with nothing but the soft perfume of roses and a small spark of hope in her chest.
That night, Mia lay awake staring at the ceiling of her small apartment, the card resting on her chest. Her heart raced.
What if it's dangerous? What if he's cruel? What if I fail again?
But another thought whispered louder
What if this is the beginning of everything changing.