10/30/2025
At 27, I'm a widowed mother of three, managing two jobs to make ends meet.
Last Friday, when my sitter called off, I had no option but to bring Ellie, my 3-year-old, along for my evening shift at the diner. She stayed in the background, quietly doodling in the corner, while I focused on my work.
Then they came in. Claire — tall, exuding wealth, dressed in fine jewelry and wrapped in a powerful perfume — with her husband trailing behind. She picked a table in my section. A fortunate coincidence.
"Two cappuccinos. One non-fat. And make sure it's hot this time," she said with an air of authority.
"Of course, ma'am," I responded politely.
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth twisting into a smirk. "You seem… inexperienced. How long have you even been working here?"
"Almost a year," I told her.
"A YEAR OF THIS?" she exclaimed, her voice sharp and cutting.
Ellie looked up, her small voice breaking through. "Mommy?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart," I said, trying to keep my composure.
Claire caught on. "Oh. You brought your child to work?"
"Just tonight," I replied.
Her grin turned cruel. "WELL, I GUESS SOME PEOPLE JUST CAN'T AFFORD A SITTER!"
A few moments later, I delivered their order. Claire leaned forward, her tone icy.
"WAIT — THIS ISN'T RIGHT!"
"It is, ma'am. The grilled salmon."
"Sure, but I DIDN'T ASK FOR IT TO BE COLD."
She tilted her cup, spilling the cappuccino onto the table.
"OH NO! WHAT A DISASTER!"
I knelt down to wipe up the mess, my hands trembling.
"Seriously, you should be more careful. People pay good money to eat here, not to see this," she sneered, pushing me toward a different spot. "Better clean that up before it ruins the table!"
I remained still, Ellie whimpering, "Mommy?!" as my hands shook.
Then, suddenly, her husband raised his fist and slammed it on the table. The clatter of silverware silenced the room. A hush fell as he looked up, his voice cutting through the stillness.