CHAPTER II

DELIVERY

Her teasing softened, her gaze turning more tender. I caught a glimpse of something in her expression—maybe understanding, or maybe just the kindness she always extended to me. She’d seen so many faces pass through this lobby, yet there was something about me that seemed to linger in her mind. Perhaps it was my humility, or maybe the quiet hope that I carried, despite the weariness that seemed to be etched into every inch of my body.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Grace said, her voice gentle as she took the package from me.

“Thank you,” I said, offering a small but sincere smile. I adjusted my bag and turned to leave, my feet moving faster as I neared the door. I wanted to escape this grand lobby, this world that always reminded me of the gap between my life and the one I dreamed of. 

As I hurried to exit the lobby, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something in the air had changed. It wasn’t that anything specific had happened, but the weight of this building, the polished floors beneath my feet, and the voices of the employees fading in the background—everything felt a little too grand, a little too far out of reach. I tried to ignore the familiar pang in my chest, the yearning for something more than the life I was currently living. I had already resigned myself to the fact that the company I admired, the one I dreamt of being part of, was something I could only observe from afar.

But there was something about this place. Something that always tugged at me when I stepped inside. Every time I came here, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to work among these polished, accomplished people. To wear those suits, to sit at desks overlooking the city, to live a life that wasn’t constrained by debts, obligations, and the constant worry about my mother’s health.

Just as I was about to pass through the revolving door, I hesitated. My eyes briefly wandered back to the reception area, the sound of a low conversation drifting from the nearby elevators. It was then that I noticed a figure standing by the doors, but I didn’t have the courage to look long enough to truly take in who it was. I couldn’t afford to daydream now. There were too many things waiting for me outside—too many responsibilities that I couldn’t push aside.

As I stepped out into the cool evening air, the sound of my heels clicking against the sidewalk seemed to echo in my ears. It was a sound I had grown used to, a reminder that I was still chasing something, still moving forward despite everything.

But, as I glanced back at the building once more, I couldn’t help but wonder if today had been just another ordinary day, or if something—or someone—had subtly altered the course of my path.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my delivery bag as I turned the corner, leaving the bright lights of Rockwell Corporation behind me. The streets were busy, the city alive with the usual evening buzz. My next delivery was only a few blocks away, but my body already ached from the weight of the long day.

Reaching the small diner where I worked part-time, I stepped inside and was greeted by the familiar sounds of plates clinking and the murmur of tired conversations. “Zaldua, you’re late!” barked Mr. Ortega, the owner, from behind the counter.

“Sorry, sir,” I replied quickly, forcing a polite smile as I hurried past him to the back room. I stashed my delivery bag in a corner and tied on my apron. The next few hours were a blur of taking orders, refilling coffee cups, and clearing tables. My feet screamed for rest, but I had long since learned to ignore the pain. I couldn’t afford to stop—not when every peso counted.

By the time my shift ended, it was well past midnight. The streets were quieter now, the city wrapped in a soft hum as most people slept. I made my way home, clutching a small plastic bag containing leftovers that Mr. Ortega had grudgingly let me take.

Home was a tiny, one-bedroom apartment on the far edge of the city. The walls were thin, and the neighbors were loud, but it was ours. I unlocked the door quietly, careful not to disturb Mama.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of the herbal oils Mama used to ease her pain. I found her sitting in her favorite chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her face lit up when she saw me. “You’re home,” she said softly, her voice tired but warm.

I nodded and set the leftovers on the table. “How was your day, Ma? Did you take your medicine?”

She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that tried to hide the truth. “I’m fine, anak. Just tired.”

Her frailty always struck me like a punch to the chest. I hated seeing her this way, knowing that the strong, vibrant woman who had raised me was now reduced to battling her body every single day.

I knelt beside her and took her hand. “I’ll find a way, Ma. One day, I’ll make things better for us.”

She stroked my hair gently, her eyes filled with quiet love. “You already do, Kirsten. Just having you here makes everything better.”

Her words were meant to comfort me, but they only fueled the determination burning in my chest. I stayed with her for a while, listening as she talked about the old days, when life was simpler, before sickness and debts had taken over our lives.

When she finally drifted off to sleep, I tucked the blanket more securely around her and crept into the tiny kitchen. The sight of the nearly empty pantry made my stomach twist, but I pushed the worry aside. I’d figure it out. I always did.