Chapter 10 - The Woman Who Wouldn't Take the Money| Dela's next paycheck arrived on Monday.
She checked the amount twice at the bus stop.
The money was lower than she had hoped, though higher than the estimate Puit had given her. Her reduced hours had not been fully restored, and the missing shifts meant she would have to delay a payment on her mother's medical bill.
She opened her banking app and calculated the difference.
Then she closed it.
There was no point in making the numbers more painful by looking at them again.
At the restaurant, Marisol was waiting near the kitchen entrance.
“Did you get paid?”
“Yes.”
“Enough?”
Dela gave her a look.
“Do you know anyone who says yes to that question?”
Marisol pulled a folded envelope from her apron.
“I have something for you.”
Dela frowned.
“What is it?”
“Money.”
“No.”
“You don't even know how much.”
“I know what money looks like.”
Marisol held the envelope out anyway.
“It's from the staff. A few of us wanted to help with your lost hours.”
Dela stared at it.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak.
“I appreciate it. I really do. But I can't take everyone's grocery money.”
“It's not everyone's grocery money. It's a few dollars from people who can spare them.”
“I can't.”
Marisol lowered the envelope.
“Dela, you spend your life giving people things they never ask for. A little help isn't an insult.”
“That's not what I'm afraid of.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
Dela looked away.
She remembered the months after her father left, when neighbors brought groceries and her mother smiled too brightly while accepting them. She remembered the shame of standing in a pharmacy while her mother argued over the price of a prescription. She remembered promising herself that one day she would earn enough money that nobody would ever have to pity them again.
“I don't want anyone thinking I can't take care of myself.”
Marisol's expression softened.
“Being cared for isn't the same as being incapable.”
Dela said nothing.
Marisol placed the envelope on the counter.
“Leave it here. If you change your mind, it's yours.”
Then she walked away before Dela could refuse again.
That evening, Julian arrived before the dinner rush.
He found Dela arranging menus near the service station.
“I heard the review is progressing,” she said.
“It is.”
“Does that mean the hours are coming back?”
“Human resources has recommended restoring them while the investigation continues.”
“Recommended?”
“I'm waiting for the formal adjustment.”
Dela studied him.
“You could sign it yourself.”
“I could. But I want the process to work even when I'm not standing in the room.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“That's high praise.”
“Don't get used to it.”
Julian glanced at the envelope on the counter.
“What's that?”
“Nothing.”
He looked at her.
“Dela.”
“It's money from the staff. They want to help me because I lost hours.”
“That's kind of them.”
“Yes.”
“Why haven't you taken it?”
She looked at him sharply.
“Who told you I hadn't?”
“No one. It's still on the counter.”
Dela folded her arms.
“Perhaps I was planning to take it.”
“Perhaps.”
She waited for him to offer a solution. To write a check. To promise a promotion.
He did none of those things.
Instead, he said, “My uncle used to tell me that people are often more comfortable giving help than receiving it.”
“Was he right?”
“Annoyingly.”
Dela glanced toward the envelope.
“I don't want to owe anyone.”
“Then don't treat it as a debt. Treat it as what it is—a decision made by people who care about you.”
She was quiet for a long time.
Finally, she picked up the envelope.
“I'll accept it. But I'll pay them back when my hours return.”
Julian nodded.
“If that makes you feel better.”
“It does.”
“Then make sure you do one more thing.”
“What?”
“Let them know you appreciate them.”
Dela gave a small smile.
“You're getting dangerously close to sounding like Marisol.”
“I'll try to recover.”
For the first time that week, Dela laughed without forcing herself.
Julian watched her, aware that he had come to the restaurant for a business reason and was beginning to look forward to something he could not put on a spreadsheet.
May you like
He wanted to see her smile again.
And that desire made him more nervous than any acquisition he had ever negotiated.
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