On Valentine’s Day, my ex showed up at the restaurant where I work with his glamorous new girlfriend. He mocked my job, spilled champagne, and tipped me a quarter. He thought he’d won until I slid an envelope onto the table and watched his smile disappear.
My name is Maya. I’m a single mom of two beautiful kids who deserve better than what their father gave them. I work double shifts as a waitress at the diner on Route 12.
Some weeks, I’m there for 60 hours. Other weeks, more. My widowed mom helps raise my kids while I keep us afloat.
My feet ache by the end of every shift. I smell like grease and coffee. My hands are rough from constant washing.
But it’s honest work. And it keeps my family fed. Three years ago, my husband, Carl, walked out on us.
No warning. No explanation. Just packed a bag one Thursday morning and said he couldn’t do it anymore.