THE BILLIONAIRE WHO BROUGHT BACK MY TOMMROW

Jessica stood in front of the small mirror hanging on the cracked wall of her bedroom, staring at her reflection with tired eyes.

Her dress was old, her hair was untidy, and the sadness on her face was impossible to hide. She had tried to smile at herself that morning, hoping it might make the day feel a little less painful, but the smile had disappeared before it could even reach her eyes.

She looked away from the mirror and sighed.

Another morning.

Another day of pretending she was fine when, deep inside, she felt like a person who had nothing left to give.

At twenty-one, Jessica had already learned what it meant to feel unwanted in a place she was supposed to call home.

Her father had died five years earlier, leaving behind a wife, a daughter, and more unpaid bills than savings. Before his death, their family had not been wealthy, but there had been laughter in their home. Her father had been the one person who could make Jessica feel special, even when the rest of the world made her feel small.

He used to call her his princess.

He would sit beside her in the evenings, ask about her dreams, and listen patiently while she talked about the future she wanted.

"One day, Jessica," he would tell her, gently tapping her forehead, "you will become someone you are proud of. Never allow anyone to convince you that you are worthless."

Those words had stayed with her long after he was gone.

Unfortunately, the man who had made her feel like she was worth something was no longer alive to protect her from the person who made her feel worthless.

Her own mother.

"JESSICA!"

The sharp voice from downstairs pulled her out of her thoughts.

She closed her eyes briefly.

"Yes, Mama!" she answered.

"Are you still sleeping in that room? Do you think food will cook itself? Come downstairs immediately!"

"I'm coming, Mama."

Jessica quickly picked up the old slippers beside her bed and hurried downstairs.

Her mother, Margaret, stood in the kitchen with her arms folded. Her expression changed the moment she saw Jessica.

"Look at you," Margaret said with disgust. "Is this how a girl of your age should look? Don't you have a mirror in that room?"

Jessica lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I woke up late."

"You always have an excuse! Every single day, you give me another reason to regret the day I gave birth to you."

The words landed heavily in Jessica's heart.

She had heard them before. Many times.

But somehow, they still hurt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Margaret scoffed.

"Sorry? Is that the only word you know? Can your sorry pay the bills in this house? Can it put food on this table? Can it bring back the money your father wasted raising a daughter who has nothing to show for herself?"

Jessica's fingers tightened around the edge of her dress.

Her father had never been a wealthy man, but he had done everything he could to give her a good life. He had paid her school fees whenever he could, encouraged her to study, and reminded her that education could open doors poverty had closed.

After he died, Jessica had struggled to continue her education. Financial problems forced her to abandon her dreams, and the little jobs she found barely provided enough money for transportation and food.

She had applied for jobs in shops, restaurants, and offices. She had submitted applications to places that never called her back. Sometimes, she worked for a few days before being dismissed because someone more connected had arrived.

She had tried.

God knew she had tried.

But to Margaret, none of it mattered.

"You know what makes me sick?" her mother continued. "The fact that I have other people's daughters to look at. Girls who are making their families proud. Girls who are bringing money home. Girls who are becoming somebody."

She pointed a finger at Jessica.

"And then there is you. Twenty-one years old and still depending on me. What exactly are you doing with your life?"

Jessica swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I have been looking for work, Mama. I went to the supermarket yesterday, and the manager said-"

"I don't want to hear another story!"

Margaret's voice echoed through the kitchen.

Jessica immediately fell silent.

"Your father's death has turned my life upside down," Margaret said bitterly. "I thought that at least one day, you would grow up and help me. Instead, I have another problem to carry on my head."

Jessica stared at the floor.

She wished her mother could see her.

Not as a failure. Not as a burden. Not as a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

Just as her daughter.

A girl who had lost her father.

A girl who was trying to survive.

A girl who desperately needed someone to tell her that things would get better.

But Margaret had no such words for her.

"Go and wash those plates," her mother ordered. "And after that, clean the sitting room. My friend is coming this afternoon, and I don't want her to see this house looking like a place where nobody has sense."

"Okay, Mama."

"And Jessica?"

She turned around.

"Yes?"

"Don't come begging me for money later. If you want to eat, find something useful to do."

Jessica nodded and walked toward the sink.

She didn't argue.

She didn't defend herself.

She simply began washing the plates while tears gathered in her eyes.

She had discovered that arguing with her mother only made things worse. No matter what she said, Margaret always found a way to make her feel guilty for existing.

So Jessica had learned to remain silent.

Sometimes, silence was the only protection she had.

By eleven o'clock that morning, Jessica had finished cleaning the house.

She had washed the plates, swept the floor, cleaned the windows, and arranged the chairs in the sitting room. Her back ached, and her stomach growled, but she had not eaten breakfast.

She walked into the kitchen and opened the pot on the stove.

There was a little rice left from the previous evening.

Jessica reached for a plate, hoping to serve herself a small portion before leaving to search for another job.

"Who told you to touch that food?"

She froze.

Margaret stood at the kitchen entrance, watching her.

"I haven't eaten anything since morning, Mama," Jessica explained quietly. "I just wanted to take a little."

"That food is for my friend and me."

"But there is still plenty-"

"Are you arguing with me?"

"No, Mama."

"Then put it back!"

Jessica slowly returned the plate to the cupboard.

Her stomach hurt, but she ignored it.

Margaret walked closer.

"Honestly, Jessica, sometimes I wonder whether you have any shame. You are a grown woman who cannot provide for herself, yet you are always the first person looking for food."

Jessica felt her cheeks burn.

"I'm not trying to upset you."

"Then stop being a disappointment!"

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Jessica looked at her mother, searching her face for even the smallest sign of affection.

She remembered a time when Margaret would brush her hair before school and kiss her forehead when she was ill. She remembered sitting between her parents on the sofa, listening to them laugh about things she was too young to understand.

Had those moments really happened?

Or had she imagined them because she needed to believe that her mother had once loved her?

"Mama," Jessica began, her voice trembling, "what can I do to make you happy with me?"

Margaret frowned.

"What kind of question is that?"

"I mean..." Jessica struggled to find the right words. "I know things have been difficult since Daddy died. I know I haven't been able to do much for you, but I'm trying. I really am. If there is something you want me to change, please tell me. I'll do it."

Margaret stared at her for several seconds.

Then she laughed bitterly.

"You want to make me happy? Start by becoming someone I can be proud of."

Jessica's lips parted, but no words came out.

"Look at your age mates," Margaret continued. "Some are married. Some have good jobs. Some are taking care of their parents. But you? You wake up every morning with empty hands and empty promises."

Jessica's eyes filled with tears.

"I don't have anyone to help me, Mama."

"And whose fault is that? Do you expect me to beg people to employ you? Must I carry you on my head forever?"

"No."

"Then stop crying and do something with your life!"

Margaret turned and walked away.

Jessica remained in the kitchen, staring at the untouched plate.

Something inside her seemed to sink.

She had not expected her mother to solve all her problems. She had not expected her to buy her expensive clothes or give her money every day.

All Jessica wanted was a little kindness.

A gentle word.

A hug that reminded her she was not alone.

But even those small things seemed too expensive for her mother to give.

She covered her mouth with one hand as the tears finally fell.

For the first time that morning, she allowed herself to cry.

Not because she was hungry.

Not because she had no money.

But because she was beginning to wonder whether she would ever be enough for the woman who had brought her into the world.

That afternoon, Jessica left the house with a small handbag and the last few notes in her purse.

She wore a faded blue dress and a pair of worn sandals. Her hair was neatly arranged, and she had washed her face until it looked fresh.

She wanted to look presentable.

Perhaps, if she looked confident enough, someone would give her a chance.

She walked for nearly an hour before reaching a busy shopping district. Several shops displayed beautiful clothes behind glass windows, and the restaurants along the road were filled with people enjoying expensive meals.

Jessica watched a young woman step out of a boutique carrying shopping bags.

The woman wore a lovely dress and laughed as she spoke to her friend.

Jessica looked down at her own dress.

She quickly looked away.

It wasn't that she hated seeing other people happy. She simply wished that, for once, happiness would remember her address.

She approached a small restaurant where a notice had been placed near the entrance.

HELP NEEDED - WAITRESS.

Her heart jumped.

This could be it.

She pushed the door open and walked inside.

A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter, checking some documents.

"Good afternoon, ma," Jessica greeted politely.

The woman looked up.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"I saw the notice outside. I'm interested in the waitress position. I can work hard, and I'm willing to learn."

The woman looked her up and down.

"Have you worked in a restaurant before?"

"Not in a big restaurant, ma, but I've helped with serving customers in a small food shop. I learn quickly."

The woman hesitated.

"Do you have experience with a cash register?"

"No, ma, but I can learn."

"Do you have anyone who can recommend you?"

Jessica shook her head.

"No, ma."

The woman's expression changed.

"I'm sorry, dear. We need someone with experience. You can try somewhere else."

Jessica felt her hope crumble.

"Please, ma. I really need this job. I'll do my best, and you won't regret giving me a chance."

"I'm sorry. I can't help you."

The woman turned back to her documents.

Jessica stood there for a moment, struggling to keep her disappointment from showing.

"Thank you for your time, ma."

She walked out.

Outside, the afternoon sun was painfully bright.

Jessica stood beside the road, blinking back tears.

Another rejection.

Another closed door.

Another reminder that trying hard did not always mean getting a chance.

She continued walking, stopping at two more shops and a small supermarket. The answers were almost identical.

They wanted experience.

They wanted qualifications.

They wanted someone who knew someone.

Nobody wanted a young woman who had nothing but determination and a desperate need to survive.

By the time evening approached, Jessica's feet were sore, and her purse was almost empty.

She bought a small bottle of water and sat on a low wall near a bus stop.

People moved around her, talking on their phones, laughing with friends, and hurrying home to families who might be waiting for them.

Jessica watched them quietly.

She wondered what it felt like to have someone ask whether you had eaten.

What it felt like to come home and hear, "How was your day?"

What it felt like to be loved without having to earn it.

Her phone vibrated.

For a moment, she hoped it might be someone offering her a job.

Instead, it was a message from her mother.

Where are you? Don't come home expecting me to feed you if you've wasted the whole day doing nothing.