Six months after the divorce, I ran into Sara at a shopping mall.
She worked as a beauty counter sales associate wearing the store's uniform. Her face was made up, yet exhaustion clung to her features, with heavy dark circles etched under her eyes.
I walked over to her workstation. She glanced up and froze the instant she spotted me.
"Whitney…"
"It's Ms. Lane."
Her cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment. "Sorry, Ms. Lane."
I gave her a slow once-over. "How have things been for you lately?"
She dropped her gaze, her voice small and subdued. "Not good at all."
"What happened?"
"I can't land a stable full-time job. My former company fired me, and no other employers are willing to hire me. Even my own parents refuse to speak to me now."
Memories washed over me. I could still picture
