The morning sun came in dull and colorless, hidden behind thick clouds. Emma was already late. She had to walk Lia to the neighbor's again — the kind woman upstairs who sometimes watched her daughter for a few hours — and rush to the matatu stage.
Everything felt heavy today. Her shoes were wearing thin, and her blouse had a button missing. But she pulled it together like always. Composed. Strong. Untouchable. That mask.
By the time she got to work, she was ten minutes late. The office air smelled like dust and cheap perfume. As Emma placed her bag under her desk, she saw Mr. Muli walk out of his office.
He didn't speak — not yet. He just gave her that long, slow look of disapproval. And Emma knew what was coming.
"Miss Emma," he said loudly enough for everyone in the office to hear, "I see time means nothing to you. Again."
"I had to—"
"I'm not interested in excuses," he cut in coldly. "This is a professional space. We expect punctuality."
She clenched her jaw. "It won't happen again."
"You've said that before," he sneered. "And yet here we are. Maybe this job is too hard for you."
That was it. Something inside Emma snapped.
"No," she said firmly, standing straighter. "This job is not hard. Life is. You have no idea what it takes to just show up here every day."
The office went quiet.
Mr. Muli stepped closer. "Excuse me?"
Emma's voice trembled now, but she didn't back down. "I wake up at 5, dress my child, walk her to someone willing to watch her, get here after spending my last fifty bob on fare. Then I sit here and do my job. And still, you talk to me like I'm trash."
He was stunned, just for a second.
"I will not be spoken to like I don't matter," she said. "Because I do."
Ruth was already on her feet from across the room, walking toward Emma slowly, eyes scanning the tension in the air.
"Emma," she said gently, placing a hand on her arm. "Come. Let's get some air."
Emma hesitated, then nodded and walked out with her. The office buzzed again behind them, whispers like bees, but Ruth didn't let go of her arm.
Outside, near the back of the building, Ruth finally spoke. "You held it in too long, didn't you?"
Emma breathed deeply. "I'm tired, Ruth. I'm really tired."
Ruth nodded. "I know. And it's okay to say it out loud."
Emma covered her face, tears streaming silently. "They don't know what it's like. No one does."
Ruth held her tightly. "But I do."
For the first time in a long while, Emma let someone hold her. And for a few minutes, she wasn't the fighter, or the mother, or the survivor. She was just... human.
To be continued...