I never thought life would corner me like this. Dancing in a cheap club, working overtime just to keep breathing, just to save enough to bring my son back. I gave him up because I had nothing—no money, no help. His father disappeared seven years ago, swearing he'd come back. He never did. He doesn’t even know I was pregnant.

Then came the night everything fell apart. A man tried to force himself on me. I fought back—harder than I ever had—and before I even realized it, he was dead. I didn't know he was someone rich, someone important. All I knew was I survived. But survival cost me my freedom.

Jail swallowed me whole. No lawyer. No calls. I knew my family wouldn't help. I accepted it. Maybe I deserved it. I don’t even believe in God, but still… I found myself thanking Him when they let me out. No answers. Just an open door.

I walked home, unsure how to feel. As soon as I got inside, there was a knock. I opened the door, and it was the landlady, telling me I had a week to move out. No surprise there. With no money, it was just another problem to add to the pile.

Then, another knock. I opened the door again, and there she was—a tall woman in a sharp suit, looking way too polished for this place. Without thinking, I shut the door in her face. Probably just someone here about the bills I couldn’t pay.

But she knocked again. And again. Louder. Annoying.

I snapped the door open, my voice tight. “What do you want from me?”