PAINT MY LOVE IN YOUR HEART

She glanced at her wristwatch again as her stomach growled loudly, its demand for food unmistakable.

On instinct, she looked around, then sighed in relief when she realized she was alone in the vast, white office - an office much bigger than her entire house.

The emptiness of the space only made her acutely aware of her poverty.

Her stomach growled once more, louder this time. The stale bread from yesterday's dinner had clearly run its course, and her stomach was craving something far more satisfying. A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined the meal she would finally have today.

Her thoughts wandered to a dreamlike vision of a steaming, enormous bag of seafood from Alma's store - a dish she had long coveted.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back, her mouth watering as she imagined sinking her teeth into soft, bouncy shrimp, tender lobster drenched in butter, and savory sauce.

She could practically hear the crunch of onion rings and taste the spicy hot sauce that would accompany the soft boiled eggs and potatoes. The aroma of the boil was so vivid she nearly licked her lips.

But the sound of a door opening jerked her back to reality. She quickly wiped away the drool that had escaped from the corner of her mouth.

"I heard you have something for me?" A woman's voice interrupted, dripping with condescension.

Mrs. Charlotte, wrapped in clothes more expensive than Alice's entire wardrobe, looked her over with an air of superiority.

"Yes, ma'am," Alice stammered, looking down at her feet. "I believe you'll like it. I really poured my heart into this painting, Mrs. Charlotte."

"I don't care what you poured in. I just hope it's worth my time." Mrs. Charlotte's voice was cold, and her eyes bored into Alice with the weight of authority.

"Of course, ma'am." Alice hastily stood up, clutching the painting. In her nervousness, she knocked over the cup of coffee the secretary had served her earlier.

The coffee spilled across the table, splashing onto a pile of documents, and Mrs. Charlotte scrambled to rescue whatever she could.

"You clumsy idiot! What have you done?" she shrieked.

Alice's heart sank, and the celebration dinner she had dreamed of now seemed like a distant fantasy.

"I didn't mean to, ma'am. I'm so sorry," Alice apologized, her voice barely a whisper.

"Sorry? Your idiocy just cost me two million dollars!" Mrs. Charlotte shouted, her face twisted in fury.

Alice felt lightheaded as Mrs. Charlotte picked up a small, expensive-looking portrait from the table.

The coffee stain had ruined it beyond repair. Alice noticed the signature-this was no ordinary painting. It was priceless.

Her stomach tightened, and she had to blink rapidly to fight back the tears threatening to spill.

Mrs. Charlotte stood there, seething, her face contorted in anger. Alice couldn't help but imagine her as a beautiful but deadly doll, her eyes flashing with rage.

"You owe me two million dollars, Alice. The owners of this painting are coming in twenty minutes. They'll either want their painting or their money. What's it going to be?"

Two million dollars. Alice almost laughed, the absurdity of it all was too much. If she had that kind of money, she wouldn't be living in a waterlogged house with overdue rent for the past three months.

Her landlord had become an ironical boyfriend, checking up on her daily for his rent.

"I don't have that kind of money, ma'am," Alice said quietly, trying to sound brave despite the overwhelming fear threatening to swallow her whole. She gripped the edge of the chair for support, terrified she might collapse.

"And I don't have a painting to give to my client in the next 18 minutes," Mrs. Charlotte snapped, her voice dripping with disdain.

Alice could almost see the wheels turning in Mrs. Charlotte's mind. The room fell silent for a moment, until Alice's stomach let out a loud growl, breaking the tension.

"Let me see your painting," Mrs. Charlotte said, her voice colder than before.

Alice's heart plummeted. She knew this moment would come, but it didn't make it any easier to face. She handed over her painting, watching anxiously as Mrs. Charlotte inspected the canvas.

"This will do," Mrs. Charlotte said dismissively, as though the painting were a mere consolation prize for the one she had lost. "I'll take this in place of my ruined copy."

The walk home was the longest Alice had ever taken, each step feeling heavier than the last. Going home meant losing her painting, but perhaps, just perhaps, a miracle might still happen.

When she knocked on the door, her uncle opened it immediately. His face fell as he saw her, just as Alice expected.

"What do you want here?" he sneered.

"Please, Uncle Jim... I need help," Alice pleaded, standing at the doorstep like an unwanted stranger.

"And why should I help you? After everything you did?" He scowled, his voice dripping with disdain.

"I didn't do it! I swear, I didn't do it. Please believe me," Alice pleaded, the tears she had been holding back now flowing freely, her resistance crumbling in the face of his coldness.

"Get out and stay out," he growled. "You don't want her to catch you here, do you?" He smirked, enjoying her discomfort.

His words felt like punishment, as if he were enjoying the suffering he believed Alice deserved. "Just this once, Uncle Jim, can you be family to me? Just this once?" Alice's voice was barely a whisper, as if the weight of her situation had crushed all her energy.

"You thought you were smart," he said with a bitter laugh. "I told you, didn't I? I said you'd come crawling back. Now get out and live with your decision."

The door slammed in her face before she could say another word.

'Justice was never close when you wanted it,' Alice thought bitterly as she trudged back to the box she called home. Sitting on the stairs outside her door was her landlord, waiting to reclaim either his rent money or the house keys.