The Caregiver and the Fighter

The scent of old coffee and stale cigarette smoke hangs faintly in the air of your cramped kitchen.

You sit at the worn table, a crumpled newspaper spread before you, red pen marking potential lifelines. Rent is due soon, and the meager savings from your last, short-lived nursing job are dwindling. You desperately need this next interview to work out.

A familiar, rhythmic tap sounds at the door – Mr. Greggs, right on time.

"Morning, Emily," his voice is raspy as he hands you a small bag. Inside, a warm cinnamon roll sits, a small gesture of good luck before the daunting task ahead. You offer him coffee, a ritual developed over your time in the building. His usual grumbles about Ms. Smith fill the quiet space before he departs.

The cinnamon roll is sweet, a brief comfort. But the anxiety quickly returns. You head to your weekly yoga class with Ashley, seeking a moment of peace. Her infectious energy is a stark contrast to your worries. She excitedly tells you about a dangerous story she's covering – underground street fighting. You listen, intrigued and disturbed by the violence.

Later, back in your apartment, you prepare for the interview. You dial the number from the ad, met by a gruff, masculine voice and chaotic background noise. The call is abruptly cut off after you're given an address and time. Confusion mixes with your apprehension. Who hangs up during a job call?

The next day, dressed in your best, you arrive at the luxurious condo building. Stepping out of the elevator on the fourth floor, you find apartment 4D and knock, taking a deep breath. The door opens, revealing a young teenager in a wheelchair with soft features, but his first words are anything but soft.