Once we entered the daycare, the familiar jingle of the bell over the door signaled our arrival.
“Good morning, Kynsleigh,” the owner, Ms. Marla, called out from behind her desk, her expression a mix of business and friendliness as she adjusted her glasses.
“Good morning, Ms. Marla,” I returned the greeting.
She flashed me a tight smile before looking down at my son. “And there’s my little handsome fella.”
At her words, he responded with those sweet, gummy smiles that had the power to melt even the heaviest of hearts.
Ms. Marla waved for one of the workers to take him to the back. I waited until he was out of sight before turning to leave.
“Have a good day, Ms. Marla. See you later.”
“Yes, dear. But before you go, can I have a word with you?” Her tone shifted just a pinch, but enough. “Kynsleigh…” she began, pressing her lips together in a way that suggested she wasn’t looking forward to what she had to say.
My heart sank.
“You know I work with you as much as I can, and I love me some Mysun. You know that.”
“I do,” I replied, my voice a bit shaky.
“But baby, I have bills too. This is a business. I can’t keep holding his spot without a payment,” she explained, her voice gentle but firm.
“I understand.” I nodded quickly, feeling the familiar lump rising in my throat. “I get paid on Monday. You’ll have it then. I promise.”
“Monday’s fine,” she said gently, her expression softening just a touch. “Just please don’t make me feel bad about doing my job.”
I could see the conflict in her eyes, caught between compassion and practicality.
“Thank you for working with me,” I murmured, forcing a smile that felt more like a mask than a real expression of gratitude.
As I walked back to my car, the weight pressing against my chest grew heavier with every step. I hated leaving my baby at daycare so young, especially after hearing so many horror stories about neglect. It didn’t matter that he would only be there for a few hours or that I knew the place had a good reputation. The worry still followed me out the door.
But on the days I had to work, I didn’t have many other options.
Von—my best friend, roommate, and Mysun’s usual babysitter—worked the night shift. As much as he loved my son and never complained about watching him, I couldn’t keep expecting him to sacrifice his sleep when he already did so much for us.
Von kept the refrigerator stocked, the lights on, and made sure Mysun and I never went without. He had never once thrown any of it in my face or made me feel like a burden, but the guilt still pinched at me. I appreciated everything he did. I just didn’t want that appreciation to turn into me taking advantage of him—or becoming another responsibility he never signed up for.
The one thing that made leaving Mysun at that particular daycare slightly easier was the camera app they provided. It allowed me to check on him whenever I had a break.
And I did.
Far more often than I cared to admit.
Watching him through that little screen was sometimes the only thing that kept me sane until I could hold him again.
***
The air in the suite still reeked of liquor, lust, and lies. Silver and black confetti covered the carpet, blending in with the over-the-top décor, while somebody’s crusty false eyelashclung stubbornly to the mirror. Sitting on the dresser, like they got neglected mid-moan were a few sad, half-eaten oysters. Meanwhile, four empty champagne bottles were slumped in the corner, looking worse than the guests who probably left them behind. The room itself looked hungover, embarrassed, ready to swear off drinking for a week, and in dire need of an IV and some ibuprofen.
The same people who request champagne and speak in soft voices be the exact same ones hanging from chandeliers at two in the morning.
I exhaled in exasperation, the sound escaping my lips like a deflated balloon. “Ain’t no way they got this wild and still walked out of here looking rich, refreshed, and probably ready for brunch,” I muttered, shaking my head as I stepped over a pile of glitter and a broken heel.
I worked at a five-star hotel that catered to the city’s elite. The guests were always dripped in diamonds and delusion. There was even one particular valet staff who acted as if eye contact was reserved exclusively for people with Benzes, Beemers and trust funds. He didn’t even offer a nod unless a person’s ride purred like a Porsche in heat or spoke fluent German engineering.
Most days, I didn’t mind the hustle. The pay was decent, the uniforms were top notch, and I got to wear my AirPods, blissfully lost in my music while minding my own business. But cleaning up after other people’s chaos always made me wonder how the other half lived so freely, like broken glass, spilled secrets, and late-night drama weren’t their problem once they checked out.
