On Mother’s Day 2026, Mom took my sister to brunch at the restaurant where I waitressed to pay for college. Mom looked up and said, “Oh. We didn’t realize you worked here. How embarrassing for us,” loud enough for six tables to hear. I smiled, picked up the menu, and said four words. One minute later, the manager came running to their table.
I walked toward Table 8. The walk felt endless. I passed the Pattersons, passed the single mom, passed the businessmen at Table 14. “Good morning,” my voice was steady. “Welcome to the Oakwood Grill.” Mom looked up. Her eyes traveled from my face, down to my apron, down to my sensible black shoes, and back…
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