“Single parent?”
Michael gave a short laugh, still twisting the wrench. “How’d you know?”
“The way you said her name,” Catherine said softly. “That mix of love and exhaustion. My sister’s a single mom. I recognize it.”
Michael kept glancing at the time as it crawled forward.
7:51.
7:56.
Finally the tire came off. The spare went on. He tightened the last lug nut just as Catherine’s phone rang.
“Yes, I know I’m running late,” she said sharply into the receiver. “There was an issue with my car. I’m on my way.”
Then her tone hardened.
“No. Don’t start without me. This is my company and my meeting.”
Michael didn’t think about the words yet. He was still lowering the jack.
“All set,” he said. “This spare will get you to Portland, but you’ll want a real tire ASAP.”
Catherine exhaled like her lungs had been locked all morning.
“You saved me,” she said. Then she reached for her wallet. “Please—let me pay you.”
Michael shook his head. “No need. Just glad you’re okay.”
He checked his watch again.
8:12.
He was already late.
“At least take my card,” Catherine insisted, pressing it into his hand. “If you ever need anything, call me. I mean it.”
Michael pocketed it without looking and jogged back to his car, stomach tight.
PART 3 — Fired in Eight Minutes
Michael pulled into the parking lot at Morrison Supply Chain Management and checked the time again.
8:27.
27 minutes late.
His supervisor, Derek Collins, was waiting at his workstation like he’d been standing there for an hour.
“Harrison,” Derek said flatly. “My office. Now.”
Michael’s stomach dropped.
“Derek, I can explain—”
“I’ve heard your explanations,” Derek cut in. “Kid was sick. Bus was late. Alarm didn’t go off. Always something.”
Derek’s face was set. “This is the fourth time this month. I warned you after the third.”
Michael swallowed. “I stopped to help someone. A pregnant woman. Flat tire on Route 9. I couldn’t just leave her.”
Derek didn’t blink.
Advertisements
“Not my problem,” he said. “We have schedules. Deadlines. Responsibilities. You can’t meet them.”
He slid a termination form across the desk—already filled out.
“Effective immediately, you’re terminated for chronic tardiness. HR will process your final paycheck.”
The room tilted.
“Please,” Michael said, the word scraping his throat. “I need this job. I have a daughter. I’ll make up the time. Dock my pay. Anything.”
Derek stood, signaling the end.
“Decision’s made. Clean out your locker.”
Thirty minutes later, Michael sat in his car holding a cardboard box with three years of small life items: a photo of Lily, a coffee mug she’d made in art class, his badge—now dead plastic.
He pulled out his phone, thinking he’d call his ex-wife.
