There’s nothing like wearing your only decent outfit to remind you how broke you are.
The black slacks were too tight around the waist now. Pregnancy bloat. Or stress. Probably both. The white blouse had a faint coffee stain near the hem, but I tucked it in and pretended it was part of the design. The charcoal gray blazer I bought on clearance at a thrift store two years ago still held its shape. Barely.
I’d added a coat of mascara. Concealer under the eyes. Lip balm. Not lipstick. Lipstick felt like a lie I couldn’t keep up.
Standing in front of the mirrored elevator doors at SterlingTech, I looked like a woman in control. Sharp. Capable. Almost put together.
Almost.
But inside?
Inside I was cracked open and leaking everything I’d tried to bury since the fire.
The building was all
