Mishka scrambled out from under the desk, her face flushing a deep red with shame. She looked terrified, expecting to be fired on the spot for using office electricity to cook.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “I hadn’t eaten all day. By the time I finished my work, the hunger was too much to bear. I’ll clean everything up, I swear it won’t happen again.”
Yamiris was stunned. He looked at the manager of his firm—a woman who earned a substantial salary—cooking on a tiny portable stove because she couldn’t afford to go to a restaurant.
“I accept your apology,” Yamiris said softly. “But before you leave, you need to tell me. What is really going on in your life? Where is your money going?”.
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