The sun was just beginning to set when I returned to the old, crumbling church that had become our temporary home. My feet were aching, my throat was dry, and my stomach had been complaining since noon. But none of that hurt as much as the weight pressing on my chest—the feeling of being unwanted, ridiculed, and judged by people who didn’t even know me.
Not even a single shop wanted me. They all said the same thing, almost like it was rehearsed.
“Oh, I’ve seen you on that video.”
“You're the troublemaker from MCC, right?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t want any drama in our business.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab them by the collar and ask, “Did you even watch the full story? Did you even ask me why I did what I did?” But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just smiled, bowed a little, and left.
B
