FIRST JOB, FIRST PUNCH

The morning sun crept through the dirty window, a thin blade of light slicing across Lily's face.

She woke with a start, heart still racing from the night before.

The screaming.

The banging against the wall.

The silence that had followed.

She lay frozen for a long time, staring at the ceiling, half-expecting another cry, another terrible sound.

But there was only the muffled hum of Rosewood beginning its day.

By the time she pulled herself out of bed and splashed cold water on her face in the tiny shared bathroom, Lily had made a decision:

She needed to stay busy, she needed to survive.

Thinking — feeling — too much would drown her.

She dragged a brush through her hair, pulled on the least wrinkled clothes she had, and made her way downstairs.

The store where she had rented the room had a small corkboard by the entrance, cluttered with hand-written ads for babysitters, dog walkers, cleaners.

One caught her eye:

Help Wanted — Waitress — The Rusty Spoon — Ask for Mags.

No experience required.

Cash tips.

Perfect.

The Rusty Spoon sat at the edge of the main road, a squat, weather-beaten diner with a crooked neon sign and a handful of cars parked out front.

The bell over the door jingled as Lily stepped inside, the smell of burnt coffee and fried onions hitting her like a wall.

The diner was half-empty: a few truckers hunched over their breakfasts, a mother bribing a fussy toddler with pancakes, an old man reading the paper with a steaming mug at his elbow.

Behind the counter, a woman in her fifties with bleached blonde hair and bright red lipstick was slapping plates down with the speed of someone who had been doing this forever.

She caught sight of Lily and barked, "You here for the ad?"

Lily nodded quickly. "Yes. I'm— I'm new in town. I can start right away."

The woman — Mags, gave her a once-over that made Lily feel like she was being weighed, measured, and filed away.

 "You ever waitress before?"

 "No," Lily admitted.

Mags snorted. "Doesn't matter. You got two hands and you're not scared of grease burns, you'll do."

She tossed Lily a stained apron from under the counter.

"You're on trial. Don't screw up."

Lily tied the apron around her waist, nerves buzzing under her skin.

She had no idea what she was doing, but she forced herself to smile.

This was her chance to start over.

Her mother's voice echoed in her head — "If life breaks you, start over somewhere new."

 She could do this. She had to.

The first few hours passed in a blur.

Take orders, refilling coffee and smiling when you feel like collapsing.

Mags barked orders from the kitchen. The ancient cook, a man who looked like he hadn't smiled since the Cold War, slapped plates onto the counter with a grunt.

Lily learned fast, learned where the extra napkins were, how to punch orders into the ancient register, how to dodge the greasy tile that liked to trip you up by the soda machine.

By noon, her feet ached, her back was sore, and she was soaked in a fine mist of coffee, syrup, and sweat. But there was a tiny ember of pride glowing inside her.

 She was doing it. Really doing it.

She wiped down a table by the window, humming under her breath. And then he walked in.

A man in a cheap suit, tie crooked, face red like he was permanently angry.

He stomped to a booth, flung himself down, and snapped his fingers like he was summoning a dog.

Lily swallowed hard and grabbed her notepad.

"Good afternoon," she said, forcing a brightness into her voice. "Can I get you something to drink to start?"

The man didn't look up from his phone.

"Coffee. Black. And don't take all damn day."

Lily bit her tongue and scribbled the order down.

Okay. Difficult customer.

No problem.

She brought the coffee quickly, setting it on the table with a polite nod.

The man grabbed the mug, took a sip—then made a loud, exaggerated noise of disgust.

 "What the hell is this? Motor oil?"

 Lily blinked. "I—I can bring you a fresh pot, sir. Let me just—"

He slammed the mug down hard enough that coffee sloshed over the rim.

"You people can't even get a simple order right. What's the point of hiring idiots if they can't follow basic instructions?"

The diner had gone quiet.

Heads turned, forks hovered mid-air.

Lily's cheeks burned. Her heart pounded.

Every instinct screamed to shrink back, apologize, disappear. But something inside her snapped instead.

Something small but furious — a voice that had been silent too long.

She straightened her shoulders.

"We serve the same coffee to everyone, sir," she said, keeping her voice steady. "If you don't like it, you're welcome to leave."

The man stared at her like she had slapped him.

"What did you just say to me?"

 Lily met his gaze squarely.

"I said, you're welcome to leave."

For a moment, the entire diner froze.

Mags had come out from the kitchen, arms folded across her chest, an unreadable expression on her face.

The man's face turned an even deeper shade of red.

 "You'll be lucky to have a job by tonight, little girl," he spat.

 Lily shrugged, surprising even herself. "Maybe. But I still won't serve you."

He shoved away from the booth, tossing a few crumpled bills on the table.

"You're gonna regret that attitude," he snarled.

 She didn't flinch.

She stood there, shaking but standing, as he stormed out, the bell jangling violently behind him.

The diner buzzed softly, a few low chuckles and murmurs filling the air.

Lily turned back to the counter, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Mags was waiting for her.

The woman didn't speak for a long moment, just stared with that same weighing, measuring look.

Finally, she said flatly, "You're done. Get out."

The words hit like a physical blow.

Lily opened her mouth, then closed it again.

There was nothing to say.

The ember of pride she had carried all morning flickered and died.

Without a word, she untied the apron, folded it neatly, and set it on the counter.

She gathered what little dignity she had left and walked out the door, head high even as her vision blurred with unshed tears.

The spring air hit her like a slap.

The world outside seemed too bright, too loud.

People walked by without a glance, cars honked in the distance, a dog barked somewhere down the block.

Lily stood on the sidewalk, her hands clenched into fists, the weight of failure pressing down on her.

 One day.

 One miserable day, and she had already lost her job.

She pressed her forehead against the cool brick wall of the diner, breathing hard.

She had no money. No safety net and no plan.

And worst of all, no one to call.

No one who would even notice if she disappeared.

Her throat tightened painfully.

This was supposed to be the start over.

This was supposed to be the fresh beginning her mother had wanted for her.

Instead, it felt like she was falling faster and faster, with nothing to catch her.

A sharp gust of wind whipped her hair into her face.

She shoved it back and wiped angrily at her eyes.

Fine.

She would figure something else out. She would survive, she had to.

Squaring her shoulders, Lily picked up her bag and started walking, nowhere in particular, just moving because stopping felt like giving up.

The city loomed around her, strange and unfamiliar and uncaring.

She disappeared into the crowd like a ghost. And somewhere deep inside her, a voice whispered — tired but defiant:

You're not done yet.

Not by a long shot.