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Then it disappeared.
“Rachel Morgan,” he repeated quietly.
“Yes.”
He turned his chair toward the window.
“You won’t last.”
I stood straighter.
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Maybe three months earlier, I would have walked out.
Maybe a&
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year earlier, I would have told him I didn’t deserve to be spoken to that way.
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But hunger changes the shape of pride.
When your child is burning with fever in a freezing apartment, dignity becomes something you promise yourself you’ll recover later.
“I only need to last long enough to get paid,” I said.
His chair stopped.
The corner of his mouth moved.
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Not quite a smile.
“Honest.”
“I don’t have the energy to lie.”
That made him look at me again.