Hope never wanted much.
Not luxury. Not fame. Not even comfort. All she ever wanted was a life where she could breathe. Work. Rest. Eat without counting coins. Sleep without dread. Wake without despair.
But even that was too much to ask.
After everything she had been through, Hope found herself once again in a small gray office, answering calls from faceless people, trying to sound cheerful while her soul eroded word by word. The job was meaningless, the tasks repetitive, but it was something. And in a world that seemed determined to erase her, something felt better than nothing .
Or so she thought.
She worked without complaint. Never late. Never difficult. She took shifts no one else wanted, learned the systems faster than her trainers, helped coworkers finish their quotas. She didn’t gossip. She didn’t rest. She didn’t breathe. She just worked.
But machines don’t care how loyal you are.
And this place — this system — was a machine.
The office was full of people who had long given up. Middle-aged women who smiled only when someone was fired. Bitter supervisors who enjoyed power simply because it was the only thing they had. And a boss — old, smug, with eyes that lingered too long.
At first, he just made comments. “You’re the smart one, right?” “That blouse looks nice on you.” “You should wear your hair down more.”
She smiled politely. She didn’t want trouble. She needed the job.
Then one day, he touched her waist as he passed by.
The next time, he shut the door behind her.
She froze. Not out of weakness — but because that’s what the body does when survival is uncertain. When fear floods your chest faster than air. He said something, laughed, and let her go. Nothing more happened — but something inside her broke. Something that had already been cracked for too long.
After that, she started looking for a new job — silently, discreetly.
What she didn’t know was that the same company had already posted her position online.
Anonymously.
She applied. Not knowing it was her own job.
When they found out, they called her into the office. Not to fire her, but to shame her.
“How dare you look elsewhere?”
She didn’t answer.
There was no point.
She began walking to work with a limp. An old knee injury had returned — stress, malnutrition, exhaustion. But she didn’t stop coming. Every day, she showed up. Sat straight. Worked in silence. Did her job.
And still — they plotted.
They waited for the right moment. Then called her in. And smiled as they handed her a letter. “We’re restructuring the department,” they said. “Your position has been dissolved.”
Dissolved.
As if her effort was water, and they could simply wipe it away.
She left the building without saying goodbye. There was no one to say it to. Outside, the street was loud and indifferent. She stood there, blinking, realizing she had nowhere to go, no one to call, and no reason to cry anymore.
Because this wasn’t new .
This was her life — on repeat.
She walked home. Limping. Alone. Her knees ached. Her stomach growled. Her hands trembled. She sat in her cold apartment, opened her laptop, and started looking for jobs again.
Her inbox was still empty.
Her fridge was nearly empty.
And she — was becoming empty, too.
But she kept going.
Because when your whole life has been survival,
you forget what it means to live.