Fifth Avenue Waitress

The frigid water from the tap hits your hand, a familiar disappointment. The shower is useless; you'll have to boil water later for the girls' bath, hoping the unreliable stove cooperates. Another morning without hot water in the dilapidated Bronx apartment. You sigh, heading back to the living room where your nieces, Hayley and Penelope, are finishing (or not finishing) their breakfast.
"Alright, girls. Have you finished your breakfast yet?" you call out, forcing a smile. Hayley, ever the quick eater, grins about getting an extra cookie. Penelope, as usual, needs help. You start packing their lunches – the same predictable Lunchables and peanut butter sandwiches, cutting the crusts off Penny’s. The kitchen is a hazard zone – missing tiles, loose cupboards, and exposed wires – a constant reminder of how precarious life is.
As you walk the girls to daycare, navigating Hayley's rock collection detours and Penny's dog-patting spree, you reflect on how you ended up here. A 26-year-old single guardian to your sister's kids, with no career, no stable income, and a constant struggle to make ends meet. At least the girls are angels, making the hardship bearable.
After dropping them off, you rush to the subway, hoping to make your shift at Benny's Bistro. The ride is typical NYC chaos – delays for 'police matters' and uncomfortable passengers. You arrive just in time, or so you think, only to be met by your boss, Eric, scowling and accusing you of being an hour late.
