Peter set his clipboard down slowly. “Emily… are you sure you’re ready to be back? This isn’t easy stuff to carry around, especially here.” The question hit her harder than she expected. She stiffened.
“Yes. I have to be ready. I want to be ready. I came back because I refuse to be stuck anymore. I won’t let grief keep defining me.” Peter nodded gently, but concern lingered in his eyes. “Just promise me you’ll talk to someone if it gets worse.”
Emily gave him a tight smile. “I will. Thanks, Peter.” She held onto that resolve fiercely as she returned to work. Every tray she carried, every polite exchange with a guest, was a quiet defiance against the darkness creeping at the edge of her mind. She was getting stronger. She had to be.
Later that afternoon, she noticed a couple seated near the dining room window. Their voices were tense, the man leaning forward, the woman pulling away. An argument, clearly. Emily saw an opportunity—her chance to redirect her swirling emotions, to focus on helping someone else.