Her Mistake Became Mine

Rain clung to the windowpane like little tears that refused to flow. Emma Carter sat on the edge of her worn-out twin-sized bed in the gloomy corner of her Queens one-bedroom apartment, which overlooked a noisy bodega. Her résumé looked back at her from the broken screen of her laptop, which she had revised for the twelfth time that week. The same lines. Her photo shows the same smile. However, with each submission, rejection came faster and colder.

"Dear Ms. Carter, Thank you for applying; however, we have decided to proceed with another candidate."

Click.

Delete.

Repeat.

Emma exhaled, rubbed her temples, and shut her laptop with a furious sigh. A blast of wind shook the loose windowpane, matching the storm brewing within her breast. She rose and walked down the small hallway to the kitchenette, where a stale box of instant coffee sat next to a chipped cup that said Make It Happen.

What should happen?

Her fingers trembled slightly as she poured the hot water over the grains. She had not eaten a full meal since the night before when she shared a microwaved lunch with her younger sister, Lily, who was having autoimmune treatment at a hospital two blocks away. Every penny went toward Lily's therapy. Emma had zero tolerance for failure. Not now.

She wrapped her hands around the cup and looked out the window at the city's nightlife, which included people walking beneath umbrellas and light boutiques. The resulting quiet, more than the rejection itself, shattered her. There was no feedback. No second chances. It was just a cold, automated rejection that seemed much too personal.

She retrieved a worn notepad from her desk and glanced through a list of jobs she planned to apply for. Seventy-two. She circled the number in red.

72 "no" s.

A photograph caught her eye-one of the few she had left. She and her dad are smiling on a beautiful beach in Maine. Her father had his arm around her mother. Emma, a little older than eight, stood firmly in a sandcastle moat. That was before the world burst open. Before cancer stole her mother. Her father was also on I-95 before the accident struck.

Following that, it was foster care and part-time employment. School is open throughout the day. Cleaning the workplace at night. She earned her degree via both hard work and intelligence.

Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter.

Emma slumped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her heart ached in the deep, worn place where sorrow and disillusionment reside. Her undergraduate friends were pursuing careers, traveling, and posting photos in beautiful outfits with hashtags like #bosslife and #lucky.

Emma's hashtags may be more honest: #rentislateagain, #coldnoodlesfordinner, and #onejobawayfromhope.

Regardless, she got up.

Nonetheless, she tried.

She reopened her laptop and updated the job postings. The screen's glow illuminated her pale face in the darkening room. She scanned through entry-level marketing, part-time retail, and assistant barista positions. Then, her eyes settled on something.

> Executive Assistant to the CEO at Wolfe Enterprises.

The location is Manhattan.

Salary: Competitive with complete benefits.

Requirements: BA/BS degree. Discretion. Organization. Flexibility. Emotional intelligence. Excellent problem-solving skills. At least two years of experience are necessary.

Emma sat upright. Her heartbeat skipped.