After leaving her mother’s room that evening, Alina stepped out into the cool night air, clutching her empty coffee cup from the vending machine with trembling hands. She’d booked a cheap hotel near the hospital — just a tiny room with a thin blanket and a window that looked out at flickering streetlights.
She slipped off her shoes at the door, dropped her bag on the old chair, and sat on the squeaky bed. The mont she pulled her knees to her chest, the warmth of that tiny hospital room ca rushing back — her mother’s soft eyes, her tired smile, the way her hand felt so cold and small.
Her chest squeezed tight. The dam inside her broke, and she pressed her face into her blanket, letting the tears co in hot, quiet waves. For two long hours, she cried alone in that little hotel room — all her hidden fears spilling out: the helplessness, the worry, the fear that ti was always running too fast.
Stay strong, she kept whispering to herself, her shoulders shaking under the blanket. For her. For my mother. For myself.
When her tears finally dried, her eyes puffy and sore, she curled up on the thin pillow and fell into a restless sleep.
***
The next morning, Alina woke before dawn, her eyelids heavy but her chest lighter sohow. She tidied her hair, splashed her face with cold water from the tiny sink, and went straight back to the hospital.
But when she peeked into her mother’s room, Nurse Ana t her at the door, a soft frown on her face. "She’s sleeping again, Alina. She slipped back under. Her body needs the rest."
Alina stepped inside anyway, sat at the edge of the bed, and held her mother’s hand for a long ti. She pressed her lips to her mother’s knuckles, whispering the sa small promise: I’ll work hard. I’ll make you proud. Just rest, Mama. Just stay.
After a while, she forced herself to stand. She stepped out into the chilly morning air, hugging her coat tighter around her shoulders. She looked down at her wrinkled skirt and the tired circles under her eyes reflected in the shop window nearby.
Maybe... just a little sothing, she thought, pressing her hand over her chest. A new dress... a few girly things. Sothing pretty, so I don’t look so tired in front of my babies.
She wiped under her eyes, forcing the smallest smile to her lips.
Then Alina went to the mall to buy herself a new dress — sothing light, sothing pretty. She wanted to feel just a little fresh, a little special when she looked at herself in the mirror next ti.
But the mont she stepped inside that bright boutique, she could feel the eyes. The sales girl behind the counter didn’t even bother to greet her — just looked her up and down, her cheap old bag, her wrinkled sleeves, then turned her back like Alina was invisible.
Alina’s steps slowed for a second. She pressed her palm to her chest, trying to push down that old, sour feeling that always ca up when people looked at her like that. I’m not worthless, she told herself quietly, but her cheeks still burned as she walked deeper into the shop.
She went to the dress section — soft lights above, rows of pastel and floral colors that looked like tiny dreams she could touch. Her eyes landed on one simple, light yellow dress. It was soft, with a tiny flower stitch on the side, the skirt flowing just enough that it would sway when she walked. It looked like spring like sothing she hadn’t felt in years.
Her lips curved in a small, shy smile. She reached out and gently took it off the rack, holding it up to her chest in front of the mirror. Just for a second, she could almost see herself standing straighter. I’ll wear this on Monday, she thought. It’ll be nice...
But before she could even move, a sharp tug snatched the dress right out of her hands. She gasped, startled, her eyes snapping to the side. Her breath caught in her throat.
Standing there, the hanger pinched tight in her painted nails, was Celeste — her old café co-worker. Celeste’s fake pink lips curved in that sa an smirk she always wore when she wanted to hurt soone without lifting a finger.
"Well, well," Celeste said, her voice dripping with that fake sweetness. "Look who crawled back to the mall. Haven’t seen you in a week and now you’re playing rich girl, hm?"
Alina’s fingers twitched empty in the air, her heart sinking. "Celeste..." she whispered, her chest tightening. She hadn’t seen her since she’d left that café job — only a week ago, but it felt like a lifeti.
Before Alina could say another word, Celeste’s grip on the hanger tightened. She leaned closer, her sharp eyes flickering over Alina’s simple hair clip and weary gaze.
"What’s your ga this ti? Found soone new to latch onto, or are you still playing the poor little princess?" Celeste’s voice was a venomous whisper, sharp enough to draw blood.
Alina felt the sting in her eyes, but she pressed her lips together, her jaw tight. Don’t let her see you cry, she told herself. She opened her mouth to speak but froze when she felt another presence beside Celeste.
Riccardo. The café owner’s spoiled son. Tall, slick hair, that hungry grin he always used when the boss wasn’t looking. His eyes dragged over her slowly, lazily, like he was trying to peel off every layer of her skin right there in the bright shop.
"Wow..." Riccardo muttered, his gaze sliding from her chestnut hair to her pretty hazel eyes, then down to the curve of her waist. "A week away and you co back looking like this? You’ve grown up, huh... Alina."
Alina’s stomach turned. She stepped back a little, clutching her hands together, her shoulders stiff. She hated that look that way he looked at her like she was sothing he could buy if he just snapped his fingers.
Celeste tossed her hair over her shoulder with that sa arrogant grin. She tugged the yellow dress closer to her chest, pressing it against her body like she’d just won a prize. "Too bad you can’t afford this anyway, Alina," she sneered. "Poor little stray girl. You should stick to secondhand stores."
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