press on
Some mornings, I wanted to quit. The shop was small, the customers slow, the hours long. I woke before the sun, bathed Dora, dressed her, carried her in the bag, stood all day selling groceries, counting coins, and then returned to the empty apartment, too tired even to eat. My body ached. My mind screamed. I questioned everything. Was it worth it? Could I really do this alone? Was my child better off in this life than without me? The thought of stopping haunted me constantly. The temptation was almost sweet: close the shop, take a deep breath, hide from the world. For a moment, I wanted to fold under the weight of it all. But then the old woman came. She appeared quietly as always, sitting across from me with Dora in her lap, her hands steady, her eyes calm. She had watched me stru
- Writer
