Thirty days to love

The coffee was scalding hot when it hit his expensive suit.

"What the hell-" The man shot up from his corner table, designer fabric dripping with espresso and steamed milk.

Lena Torres didn't flinch. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before calling someone's art pathetic trash."

Her manager rushed over, face red with panic. "Lena! Oh my God, sir, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't apologize for me, Manager." Lena untied her apron, hands shaking with rage. "I'm not sorry."

The customer's cold gray eyes locked onto hers. Tall, dark-haired, probably mid-thirties with the kind of sharp jawline that belonged on magazine covers. His suit probably cost more than she made in three months.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" His voice was low, dangerous.

"Some rich asshole who thinks money gives him the right to insult people's dreams." Lena threw her apron at Marcus's feet. "I quit."

She grabbed her paintings from behind the counter-five small canvases she'd hoped to sell to café customers. The stranger's words echoed in her head: pathetic trash. She'd spent weeks on these pieces, pouring her heart onto canvas between coffee orders and double shifts.

The October wind bit through her thin sweater as she stormed down the sidewalk. Three years at that job. Three years of smile-and-take-it while entitled customers treated her like furniture. And for what? Minimum wage and the privilege of being insulted by men in thousand-dollar suits.

Her phone buzzed. Sofia.

"How's the art sale going?" her best friend asked.

"I just threw coffee on a customer and quit my job."

"Jesus, Lena. What happened?"

"Some arrogant prick called my paintings pathetic trash." She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder, struggling with her canvases as she walked. "Right to my face, Sofia. Said I was delusional if I thought anyone would pay for 'amateur hour bullshit.'"

"What an asshole. But babe, you needed that job-"

"I know." Lena's anger was already fading, replaced by cold dread. Rent was due in two days. Her father's medical bills kept piling up. Izzy's tuition payment was next week.

She stopped walking. "Oh God. What did I do?"

"It's okay. We'll figure it out. Maybe Manager will take you back if you apologize-"

"I'm not apologizing." The words came out sharper than intended. "I won't grovel to keep a job where they let customers humiliate me."

"Then we find you something else. There are other cafés, other restaurants-"

"That'll hire someone who just got fired for assaulting a customer? Sofia, I threw hot coffee on him."

Silence on the other end. Then Sofia sighed. "Come home. We'll figure this out together."

Home was a fourth-floor walkup in Queens that she shared with Sofia and sometimes Izzy when her sister couldn't afford her dorm. The elevator had been broken for six months. By the time Lena climbed all four flights, her legs were burning and her lungs ached.

She fumbled with her keys, still juggling the paintings. One slipped from her grip and clattered down the stairs.

"Shit, shit, shit-"

The canvas had a long scratch across the corner. Six hours of work, ruined. She sank onto the steps and put her head in her hands.

This morning she'd woken up hopeful. Maybe today someone would buy a painting. Maybe she'd finally catch a break. Maybe-

Her phone rang. Unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Is this Elena Torres?"

"It's Lena, yeah."

"This is Patricia from Metropolitan Cardiology. I'm calling about your father's account."

Lena's stomach dropped. "What about it?"

"Your father missed his appointment yesterday. We've been trying to reach him, but his phone seems to be disconnected. The balance on his account is now $23,847, and we need to discuss payment arrangements-"

"Twenty-three thousand?" Lena gripped the phone tighter. "That can't be right. Insurance was supposed to cover-"

"Insurance covered the initial procedure, but the follow-up care, medications, and monitoring equipment weren't fully approved. If we don't receive payment soon, we'll have to suspend his treatment."

The words hit like physical blows. "You can't do that. He needs those medications. The heart monitor-"

"I understand this is difficult, Miss Torres. But we've extended payment deadlines twice already. We need at least half the balance by the end of the week, or we'll have to turn the account over to collections."

Lena closed her eyes. Nearly twelve thousand dollars. In five days.

"Miss Torres? Are you there?"

"I'm here." Her voice sounded hollow. "I'll... I'll figure something out."

She hung up and stared at the phone. Twenty-three thousand dollars. Plus rent. Plus Izzy's tuition. Plus groceries, utilities, her own student loans...

The apartment door opened above her. Sofia appeared at the landing, dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing scrubs from her bartending shift.

"Babe? What are you doing on the stairs?"

Lena couldn't find words. She held up the damaged painting instead.

Sofia sat beside her on the narrow step. "That bad, huh?"

"Papa's medical bills are almost twenty-four thousand dollars." The words felt unreal. "They're going to stop his treatment if I don't pay them twelve thousand by Friday."

"Jesus Christ."

"And I just quit the only job I had." Lena laughed, but it came out bitter. "Perfect timing, right?"

Sofia wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We'll figure it out. I can pick up extra shifts, maybe ask my manager about that promotion-"

"Sofia, you make barely enough to cover your own expenses. And even if you got the promotion, we're talking about thousands of dollars. In five days."

They sat in silence. Somewhere below them, Mrs. Chen was cooking dinner. The smell of garlic and ginger drifted up the stairwell, making Lena's empty stomach clench.

Sofia was quiet for a moment. Then: "There are other ways to make money quickly."

Something in her tone made Lena look up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Sofia glanced around, then lowered her voice. "I know girls who make good money. Really good money. There are websites, apps-"

"No." Lena stood up abruptly. "Absolutely not."

"Just think about it. You're beautiful, you're smart-"

"I'm not selling my body, Sofia."

"It's not selling your body. It's... companionship. Dates. Some of these guys just want someone to talk to, go to dinner with-"

"And some of them want a lot more than dinner." Lena picked up her paintings. "I won't do it."

Sofia followed her to the apartment door. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I just... I hate seeing you like this."

Inside, their tiny living room felt even smaller with Lena's paintings propped against every available surface. Two years' worth of work. Cityscapes, portraits, abstract pieces that meant something to her even if they meant nothing to anyone else.

Maybe the asshole in the expensive suit was right. Maybe she was delusional. Maybe-

The mail slot clattered. Sofia grabbed the pile of envelopes and bills, sorting through them quickly.

"Electric bill, credit card statement, something for you..." She stopped. Her face went pale.

"What?"

Sofia held up a thick envelope with red lettering. "Eviction notice."

Lena's knees almost gave out. She grabbed the envelope, tearing it open with shaking hands.

The words blurred together. Nonpayment of rent... thirty days late... final notice... 48 hours to pay $3,000 in full or vacate premises...

Three thousand dollars. Forty-eight hours.

She looked around the apartment-their home for two years. The place where she'd painted her best work, where she'd dreamed of better days, where she'd built a life with Sofia and sometimes Izzy.

Gone in forty-eight hours.

"Lena?" Sofia's voice seemed to come from far away. "Babe, say something."

But there was nothing to say. No job, no money, no options. Her father would lose his medical care. She'd lose her home. Izzy would have to drop out of school.

All because she'd thrown coffee at some rich bastard who'd insulted her dreams.

The eviction notice fluttered to the floor as Lena sank onto the couch. Through the thin walls, she could hear the Chens arguing about groceries, Mrs. Rodriguez's baby crying, the teenage boys next door playing music too loud.

Normal sounds of normal people living normal lives. People who probably didn't have to choose between medicine for their father and a roof over their heads.

Sofia sat beside her, picking up the notice. "Forty-eight hours," she read quietly. "That's... that's not long."

"No," Lena whispered. "It's not."

Outside, the October sun was setting, casting long shadows across their small living room. In two days, this wouldn't be hers anymore. In five days, her father's heart medication would stop coming.

And somewhere in the city, a man in an expensive suit was probably getting his coffee stains dry-cleaned, never thinking twice about the waitress who'd ruined his morning.

Lena closed her eyes and tried to imagine what rock bottom looked like.

She had a feeling she was about to find out.