The sun had already claimed its place in the sky, and its sharp, scorching rays pierced through the broken windows of the abandoned church. The usual frightening morning had finally arrived—frightening not because of ghosts or monsters, but because I still had no damn job. No assurance of food for my family. No certainty of tomorrow.
“Maurice Miranda,” I muttered to myself, looking at the small mirror fragment resting on the dusty altar, “you may not have a job, but girl, you still got that beauty!” I gave myself a wink, even though the hunger in my belly was louder than my confidence.
Mom was preparing what little we had for breakfast. It was barely enough—some leftover bread and boiled eggs that somehow tasted like hope. I forced a smile as I sat beside her and Mico.
“Eat up, Maurice,
