"So you're finally awake."

I recognize her voice before I see her. What I don't recognize is my surroundings, although by the looks of it, it's most likely a hospital. Something went wrong.

"Oh my God! What's the time?" I ask, sitting up, and I notice I have an IV line in my left arm.

"Don't you dare move from that bed, young lady!" The rude woman from church is sitting to my right, her crutches neatly poised against the wall. Her hard, skeptical brown eyes glare at me from behind thick glasses. Her foul demeanor from before is still strong in her voice. "She tries to help me when she can't even stand on her own two feet, and now she's all in a rush. People nowadays have no sound mind, I tell you."

"I can't be here. I need to pick my daughter from school, and..." The few coins I got today won't make it for dinner. Despair sinks in my soul as I weigh my limited options. I need to get back on my feet and do something as soon as possible.

"Your kid won't go anywhere soon; it's just twenty past eleven." Despite her ill-mannered tone, I can tell she's concerned. "Besides, what can you even do when you're so weak?"

"It's not about what I can or can't do." I snap at her even if it wasn't my intention. I look down, trying to tune down a few decibels and add: "It's what I need to do."

She gives me a disgusted look from behind her glasses, and I'm understanding that this is just the way she acts.

"What you need to do, young lady, is to take care of yourself as well." She snaps, and I can tell she's right, but it's not something I can do right now. "If you don't, and you fall ill, like you just did, by the way, who will take care of your child?" Her bored eyes are daring me to prove her wrong, but I know she's right on every word. But what else could I do? Since I say nothing, she continues. "Did you have breakfast this morning?"

"Yes..."

"Lies!" She roars at me, oblivious to the fact that we are in a hospital. "You're anemic as hell! I'm sure you didn't have a proper meal in days."

I want to rebut, but I'm afraid she's seen through me. She continues. "How much do you need for dinner?"

I think for an instant, try to count in my mind my few coins.

"About ten dollars."

"What kind of trash are you going to cook with ten miserable dollars, woman!?" She shouts, almost spitting the words out, and fumbles in her purse before pulling out a twenty. "Do you have a name?"

"I... I'm Cynthia. Cynthia Dawson." I hesitate, but her hand doesn't as she extends that bill to me.

"Take it already. You need to feed your daughter, and I won't be able to sleep tonight if I let a child starve." I finally take it, and after folding it carefully, I put it in my pocket. "Hell if I need any of that on my conscience."

"Thank you... uh..."

"Mathilde Royston." She says, sitting straighter in her chair. She takes off her glasses, and points at me with them. "I hope you're ready, Cynthia Dawson. You will work for me from now on."