Megan scanned the endless racks of dresses, blouses, and sensible blazers with a heavy, almost physical sense of dread. The air in the shop was thick with the specific scent of new fabric, anti-static spray, and cheap perfume—a combination that guaranteed a migraine by five o’clock.
Was this really what she was put on this earth to do? Had she spent four years pulling all-nighters at design school, skipping parties and dates, just for this? Was her true calling really to help bored housewives find a flattering fit for their jeans and force a smile for customers who often didn’t even bother to say hello?
She had a degree from a prestigious university, a portfolio full of ambitious concepts, and parents who were incredibly proud of her. She had imagined herself in a bright, airy office with floor-to-ceiling windows, designing interiors for the city’s best restaurants. Instead, she was here, in the stifling sales floor of a struggling family boutique in a small Ohio town.
It felt like fate had decided to play a cruel joke on her, knocking her down from her high hopes into the mundane reality of retail. From these heavy thoughts, she was distracted by a ringing laugh nearby. It was her younger coworker, Debbie. Unlike Megan, Debbie took to this environment like a fish to water.
She fluttered between the racks and seemed to genuinely love every item in the store. Debbie was currently convincing an older woman that the pale pink blouse she was afraid of didn’t make her look washed out at all. “It’s all about the undertone—you need this cool, powdery shade,” she chirped, holding the fabric up to the customer’s face. “Trust me, with the right cut, it’s perfect.”
The woman, who had been skeptical a minute ago, was now looking at herself in the mirror with interest. Megan sighed heavily, straightened her name tag, and forced herself back to work. Putting on her “customer service face” was becoming harder every day, but life didn’t offer many alternatives right now.
Her current reality had little in common with the life she had mapped out for herself. Just six months ago, her biggest worries were choosing a swimsuit that flattered her waistline and planning a honeymoon itinerary along the Italian coast. That life had collapsed in an instant, crumbling into dust on the very day the wedding march was supposed to play.
That wedding had ended before it really began, leaving behind only embarrassment and a stack of unpaid bills. The ceremony was called off in a spectacular fashion, though the guests—who had been looking forward to the open bar—grumbled about it in the parking lot for hours. But the bride wasn’t thinking about the reception. It’s hard to celebrate when the groom turns the happiest day of your life into a nightmare.
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