Chapter 18: Echoes of a Father's Love

The next day, Ella arrived at her dishwashing job, already exhausted. The restaurant was busier than usual, and the sink overflowed with dirty plates.

Her boss, a short-tempered man named Mr. Lawson, frowned at her. "You're late."

Ella swallowed, forcing herself to stay calm. "I'm sorry, I—"

"No excuses," he snapped. "Get to work."

Ella bit her tongue and nodded. She plunged her hands into the soapy water, scrubbing plates as fast as she could. Her back ached, and her arms were sore from working long shifts, but she didn't stop.

Later, as she was wiping down a table, one of the waitresses, Carla, approached her. "Hey, Ella… you okay?"

Ella forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."

Carla gave her a sympathetic look. "I heard about your dad. I'm really sorry."

Ella's smile faltered. "Thanks."

Carla hesitated before speaking. "I know it's not my business, but… have you thought about looking for a better job?"

Ella let out a bitter laugh. "If you find one, let me know."

Carla sighed. "Just don't give up, okay?"

Ella nodded, but deep down, she was already tired of fighting.

That evening, while walking home, Ella passed by a small repair shop. The sound of metal clinking reminded her of her father's workshop.

She stopped in her tracks, memories flooding her mind.

"Ella, hand me that wrench."

She was ten, standing beside her father as he worked on an old bicycle.

She giggled, passing the wrong tool. "This one?"

Her father laughed, ruffling her hair. "That's a screwdriver, my little mechanic."

She smiled at the memory, but the ache in her heart was unbearable.

She whispered to herself, "I miss you, Dad."

Then, taking a deep breath, she wiped her tears and kept walking.

Upon returning home that evening, Ella found her mother sitting in the dimly lit living room, staring blankly at the television. The bakery, once her pride and joy, had remained closed for months. The vibrant woman who used to sing while kneading dough was now a shadow of her former self.

"Mom, have you eaten today?" Ella asked softly.

Her mother nodded absently, though Ella doubted she was telling the truth.

"Mia made breakfast this morning. It was nice," Ella continued, hoping to spark some engagement.

There was no response, just the flicker of the television casting shadows on her mother's weary face.

That night, as Ella lay in bed, the weight of her responsibilities pressed heavily on her chest. She was determined to keep her promise to Mia, but the path ahead seemed insurmountable. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered into the darkness,** "I miss you, Dad. I don't know if I can do this without you."**

In the silence that followed, Ella felt the profound ache of loss, but also a flicker of the resilience her father had instilled in her. She knew she had to keep going—for Mia, for her mother, and for the memory of the man who had given them so much love.

To Be Continued...