The Familiar Logo

Their round little eyes were fixed on me, as if trying to see through my words, testing whether I was telling the truth.

"No, I don't believe you, Mommy. You've told us that so many times already." Egypt said with a pout.

Paris, on the other hand, looked at me seriously before wrapping her arms tightly around me, as if she already knew what I was thinking.

"You don't believe Mommy anymore?" I teased, trying to coax a smile out of her. "What if I said we'll have ice cream after you come home from school?"

"Really?" she perked up, her eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement.

"Of course! But before that, I need to cook breakfast for my princesses first." I said with a smile, lifting Paris into my arms and taking Egypt by the hand as we walked to the kitchen together.

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After the three of us had breakfast, I gave the twins their baths. It took a little longer than usual because Egypt was being extra playful—she just wanted to keep splashing around and playing.

But I had to put my foot down. She was wasting too much water, and we couldn't afford to run out. The water supply in our apartment only came at certain times, so I always had to store as much as I could.

We live in a small, low-cost apartment that I rent for a very affordable price. It's all I can afford right now, since my daily income isn't nearly enough to provide a better home for the three of us.

Every peso I manage to save goes straight into my children's future—especially for their education, because soon they'll be entering elementary school. That's why I work tirelessly every day, sometimes even juggling two jobs just to build up a decent amount of savings.

The area we live in is quite cramped—a typical squatter neighborhood, where people like me who struggle to make ends meet find a place to stay. It's far from ideal, and I do worry about our safety from time to time.

But fortunately, we have kind and helpful neighbors. They've become our extended family in many ways, always looking out for me and the twins. In fact, they absolutely adore my daughters.

They often say the girls are too cute to be from a poor family—more like they belong to the children of the wealthy, with their fair skin and angelic features.

Sometimes, people even ask me if they're really my children, since they don't look much like me. They'll tell me I'm pretty, but that my daughters are on another level—that their beauty stands out even more.

Back then, it was really difficult to convince people that the twins were actually my children. Because of how different they looked from me, many thought I was just taking care of someone else's kids.

Some would even ask me outright if I was their nanny. If it weren't for the twins speaking up and saying, "She's our mommy!" people probably still wouldn't have believed me.

Eventually, though, they started to accept it—especially when they began to notice that we shared some subtle similarities.

A few even joked that maybe they just got all their good looks from their father. I usually just laughed it off and didn't bother to explain further.

I was gently brushing the twins' hair while they sat quietly on the edge of the bed, already dressed in their little uniforms. It had become part of our morning ritual, and somehow, even on the busiest days, it brought me a small sense of peace.

Their soft giggles and innocent chatter filled the room, making our cramped apartment feel warmer.

As always, after fixing their hair, I grabbed their small bags and slung them over one shoulder before holding their hands—one on each side.

The walk to their school was short, just a few blocks away, and we always took that time to talk about their lessons or what they were looking forward to that day.

They were both in kindergarten, and it made me proud to hear how their teachers often praised them. They said the twins were bright, playful, and well-mannered—always helping their classmates and always ready with a smile.

Watching them walk ahead of me, I couldn't help but feel joy and hope. Despite everything, they were growing up happy—and that meant the world to me.

After dropping the twins off at school, I made sure to speak with their teacher and properly entrust them before heading off.

But before I left, I knelt down to remind them of the do's and don'ts for the day—what they should and shouldn't be doing. I kissed both of them on the cheek and said goodbye before hurrying to work.

It was quite a long walk to get to my morning job.

I worked as a waitress at a small neighborhood eatery, and sometimes I helped with washing the dishes when needed. The job was tough—not just because of the workload, but because my bosses weren't exactly kind. They often scolded me over the smallest mistakes, and sometimes they even deducted those from my already modest daily pay. That made things even harder.

In the afternoon, I'd take a short rest before heading out again to pick up the twins from school. After bringing them home, I would drop them off with our kind neighbor, who graciously agreed to watch over them while I went to my night job.

My second job was also as a waitress—this time at a high-end bar. I didn't have to work there every night—just Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays—which gave me a bit of breathing room on the other days.

The pay there was much better, so even though the schedule was tight, it helped us get by. With careful budgeting, I managed to cover our daily needs and even set aside a little for small treats.

Once in a while, I'd take the twins to their favorite dessert shop. It always made them so happy—those sweet treats were their favorite.

Just imagining their joyful faces was enough to make all my exhaustion melt away.

As soon as I arrived at work, my boss immediately scolded me for being late. Even though I was only about five minutes late, his reprimand felt like I'd been late for an hour.

When I started my shift, I was immediately greeted by a mountain of dirty dishes waiting for me.

Without hesitation, I dove right in, knowing full well that the boss would still expect me to wash everything myself.

After scrubbing plates and pots, I heard my boss's sharp voice booming across the restaurant, ordering me to help with the customers.

From dishwasher, I quickly switched roles to waitress.

"Slyviaa! What are you doing over there? You're taking forever with those dishes! We have so many customers today, so hurry up and come help me here!" my boss shouted.

Begrudgingly, I obeyed and began attending to the tables.

I smiled as I served the customers.

Since it was Monday, the restaurant was packed with customers, and I was kept busy running from table to table.

More than once, my boss snapped at me for moving too slowly—even though he was just standing off to the side, giving orders without lifting a finger.

I sighed silently to myself, reminding myself not to anger him. Losing this job was not an option, especially since I had two little ones depending on me every day.

Just then, my eyes caught a man waving me over to his table to take their order.

I walked over, thinking the people with him might be his coworkers.

I couldn't help but stare a bit—they were dressed so elegantly, clearly out of place in our humble restaurant.

One of the men noticed me staring and smiled warmly. I returned the smile and offered them the menu, which the man accepted with a nod, his eyes scanning the food options.

But as I looked closer, my gaze landed on a logo on one of the men's shirts—a logo from a famous company owned by someone I knew very well.

The sight of it stuck in my mind.