Chapter 1: Unfair Dismissal

I walked out of the manager's office, my face flushed with anger and humiliation. The walls of the supermarket, which once symbolized a refuge of routine and security, now loomed like an oppressive prison.

I headed to the parking lot in search of my car, an old blue sedan that barely managed to keep running. The gray clouds mirrored my mood, threatening to unleash a storm over Chicago. My dark brown hair, usually shiny, now looked dull, much like my spirit. My heart pounded as I recalled every word of the conversation I had just had with that man.

“Miss Williams, I need to speak with you in my office,” Mr. Thompson, the manager, had said with his usual insidious smile.

I felt a knot in my stomach, anticipating what might come. Ever since I had rejected his advances, that man had been harassing me for over six months, hinting that we could be more than just employee and boss. The work environment had become unbearable since then.

“Yes, Mr. Thompson,” I responded, trying to stay calm as I followed him.

Once inside the office, Thompson closed the door behind me and moved in too close. I tensed up immediately, feeling fear take hold of me.

“Emerson, I need you to understand something,” he began, his tone taking on a nuance that was unpleasant to me. “Things could be much easier for you here if you were just a bit more… cooperative.”

“Cooperative? What do you mean, Mr. Thompson?” I asked, although I already had a sense of his intentions. I had hoped in vain that this wouldn't be about harassment but rather a work-related matter.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he said, shortening the distance between us and cornering me against the desk. I felt my breath catch. I needed to get out of there right away. “You could get that raise you asked for, more flexible hours. You just need to… you know, put in a little effort.”

The manager raised a hand and touched my shoulder over the pink shirt I was wearing. I froze, feeling a repulsive sensation.

“You're mistaken, Mr. Thompson. I'm not interested in your proposals,” I replied firmly, managing to slip away and distance myself.

“It's a shame,” he whispered, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then, unfortunately, I have no choice but to fire you. We've received complaints about your attitude and performance, Miss Williams.”

“What? That's not true!” I exclaimed, feeling the injustice choke me.

“I'm sorry, but my decision is final. Pack your things immediately and leave.”

The manager's words echoed in my mind as I found my car and climbed inside, slamming the door shut. I pounded the steering wheel, feeling the tears start to roll down my cheeks.

“How am I going to pay the bills now? How am I going to afford Dad's treatment?” I muttered to myself.

My old car sputtered and coughed as it started, but finally came to life. I headed to the hospital, my mind racing with possible solutions to my crisis. Upon arriving, I greeted the nurses who already knew me by name and went up to my father's room.

“Hi, Dad,” I managed to say with a forced smile as I entered the room.

“Eme, darling. How are you? Did something happen?” my father immediately asked with his weak voice, but always with that tone of love when he spoke to me. I was his pride and the light that kept him fighting against that illness, he often reminded me.

My father had been tall and robust in his youth, a very strong man, but now at fifty-five years old, pancreatic cancer had ravaged his health. His hair, once dark like mine, was now thin and gray. His eyes, which had always sparkled with vitality, were dimmed by pain and fatigue. Despite everything, he maintained that warm smile that always managed to comfort me.

“I'm fine, Dad. Don’t worry about me,” I replied, sitting down next to his bed and taking his hand. “I just wanted to see you and make sure you're okay.”

My father looked at me with concern. It was unusual for him to see me at this hour, as he knew that in the afternoons I worked at the supermarket and would visit him after my shift.

“Eme, you know you can tell me anything. Don’t keep anything to yourself, darling.”

“I know, Dad. I assure you everything is fine, there's nothing to worry about,” I squeezed his hand tightly, trying to hold back the tears and words that threatened to spill out. I was lying, and I hated doing it, but I preferred that to him knowing the truth. “You just relax, remember stress isn’t good for you.”

A nurse interrupted the room after a few minutes. Instead of addressing my father, she looked at me and motioned for me to follow her outside.

“Miss Williams, Dr. Bennett asked to see you as soon as possible in his office,” the woman informed me, out of my father's earshot. “He said he has something important to discuss with you regarding your father's condition.”

My heart sank in my chest as I looked at the door of my father's room. At that moment, I tried not to let panic take over and refused to let negative thoughts persuade me.

“Thank you, I'll head there right now,” I said, my voice trembling in a way I couldn’t avoid.

“What's wrong, Eme?” my father asked when he saw me return. It was clear he noticed the change in my expression.

“It's nothing, Dad. I just need to talk to the doctor about your treatment. Just relax, and while I'm gone, take a nap, okay?” I gave him a smile before leaving the room, but it was forced rather than genuine.

As I walked toward Dr. Bennett's office, a sense of fear and anxiety enveloped me. What other devastating news could I possibly receive? I hoped none, because I didn’t know how much more I could take before completely breaking down.

Dr. Bennett's office was located in the west wing of the hospital, where the hallways seemed narrower, and the sunlight barely filtered through…