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Two days later, I was in the employee breakroom pouring a cup of terrible coffee. Two of the stock boys, Marcus and Dave, were eating lunch at the corner table. They didn’t see me standing behind the vending machines.
“I can’t believe Arthur canned Chloe,” Marcus muttered, shaking his head. “That’s incredibly harsh.”
“Yeah, well, management only cares about the metrics,” Dave replied. “But man, especially right now. That poor kid.”
“What do you mean?”
I froze, my coffee cup hovering in the air.
“You didn’t know?” Dave lowered his voice. “Chloe wasn’t out partying. Her dad died of a heart attack last spring. Now her mom’s kidneys are failing. She’s been in and out of the intensive care unit all month.”
My stomach dropped to the floor.
Marcus let out a low whistle. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” Dave said. “As soon as Chloe clocked out of here at four in the afternoon, she took the bus across town. She’s been working the overnight shift as a home health aide just to keep up with the medical bills and the mortgage. She goes straight from turning patients all night to scanning groceries all day. She’s completely alone.”
The styrofoam cup in my hand crumpled, hot coffee spilling over my knuckles. I didn’t even feel the burn.
I had looked at a nineteen-year-old girl and seen a stereotype. I saw a lazy teenager. I saw a nuisance.
What I hadn’t seen was a desperate, grieving daughter carrying the weight of the entire world on her frail shoulders. I hadn’t seen a young woman sacrificing her own youth, sleep, and sanity to keep her dying mother afloat.
And I had fired her for it.
I rushed back to my office and pulled her employment file. I scanned the emergency contacts and found the name of the local county hospital listed under her mother’s information.
I didn’t care that I was supposed to be running the floor. I grabbed my coat, handed the keys to my assistant manager, and drove straight to the hospital.
The building was massive, cold, and imposing. I checked the directory and practically ran to the ICU waiting area on the fourth floor.
The room was bathed in harsh, buzzing fluorescent light. And there, curled up in a rigid plastic waiting room chair, was Chloe.
She was wearing the same worn-out sneakers she wore to work. She had a thin hospital blanket pulled over her shoulders, her head resting against the cinderblock wall. She looked so incredibly small.
I walked over slowly, my heart hammering with a deep, sickening guilt.
“Chloe?” I said softly.
She jolted awake, panic flashing in her eyes. When she realized it was me, she instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around herself, looking confused and terrified.
“Mr. Davis?” she stammered, sitting up quickly. “Did… did I forget to sign something? I can come back to the store, I’m sorry—”
“No, no, Chloe. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I interrupted, my voice cracking. I sat in the chair next to her. “I did.”
She stared at me, completely bewildered.
“I overheard the guys talking in the breakroom today,” I admitted, looking down at my hands. “About your mom. About your overnight shifts. Chloe, why didn’t you tell me? When I was yelling at you in the office, why didn’t you defend yourself?”
She looked down at her lap, her eyes filling with tears. “Because you were right,” she whispered. “I fell asleep. I messed up. And… usually, when I tell people what’s going on, they just pity me. I don’t want pity. I just wanted to work.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “But now I don’t know how I’m going to pay for her medication next week.”
I couldn’t hold back my own tears anymore. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out an envelope.