Votos Que Nunca QuisimosES

SOPHIE

The envelope trembled in my hands as I opened it. I already knew what it would say. Even so, I had hope.

We regret to inform you that the position has been filled.

The words blurred. My fingers tensed, and the paper slipped from my hand. It landed on the kitchen floor next to five other letters. They all said the same thing.

Six interviews. Six rejections. Six reminders that I was failing the people who needed me most.

"Sophie?" My mom's weak voice drifted from the bedroom. "Is everything okay, honey?"

I closed my eyes for a second. My throat felt tight. I didn't want him to hear me cry.

"Everything's fine, Mom," I shouted, trying to sound cheerful. The cheerfulness felt sharp and fake. "I'm just picking up some papers."

I bent down, gathered all the rejection letters, and shoved them at the bottom of the trash can. My hands were shaking. Mom didn't need to see them. Not today. Not with chemotherapy starting next week.

I went into her room. She looked so small against the pillows. Her hair was thin. Her eyes were tired, but they still scrutinized my face as if she could see all the things I was trying to hide.

"You look worried," he whispered, reaching out his hand toward mine.

I sat down beside the bed and forced a smile. I felt something break inside my chest.

"I'm fine. Just tired," I said.

"You've been tired for months," she said gently. "Running from interview to interview. Working. Studying. Taking care of me and Emily. It's too much for one person."

"But it's my job," I whispered, looking down. "It's my responsibility."

She wiped a tear from my cheek. I hadn't even felt it fall.

"Your father would say what I'm saying now," he said. "You don't have to carry all this alone, Sophie. You don't have to break yourself trying to save us."

I tried to breathe, but my chest hurt.

"Mom, I just want things to get better," I said. "I want you to have a life where you're not counting medical bills and choosing which medicine we can afford."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I already have something good. I have you. That's enough."

But it wasn't enough. Not when Emily needed school supplies. Not when the rent was overdue. Not when the hospital bills sat on the kitchen table like a terrifying mountain.

My phone vibrated on the counter. I jumped. It broke the moment.

Kayla's name appeared on the screen.

I wiped my face. "Hi," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Check your email right now," Kayla said. Her voice was almost shouting. "Carter Pharmaceuticals sent an email. They want you today. Final interview. Four thirty."

I remained completely still. The kitchen felt as if it were moving.

"Today? Kayla, it's already three o'clock," I said.

"They said four thirty. Sophie, this could change everything."

My heart was pounding. Carter Pharmaceuticals wasn't just a job. It was a way out. A way to save my family.

"I'm coming," I said. "Send me the address by message."

"Sophie, call me right after. Promise?" he said.

"I promise".

I hung up and ran to my small closet. My only smart outfit was waiting there: a black blazer and skirt I'd bought when I thought I'd be a doctor someday. I dropped out of pre-med after Dad died, but the clothes still hung there like a memento.

I put on the outfit. It was looser now. Worry had slowly taken weight away from me, as if it were carving me from the inside.

"Sophie?" Emily was standing in my doorway. She was still wearing her school uniform and holding her backpack strap.

"I have a job interview," I said, smoothing down my blazer. "Can you heat up the soup for Mom?"

"Another one?" Her voice was small, but I heard the hope in it.

"This one's different," I said quietly. "It's Carter Pharmaceuticals."

Her eyes widened. "Sophie. That's huge."

I hugged her tightly. "Don't tell Mom yet. Not until we're sure."

Deep down, I prayed that this time it wouldn't be another no.

***

The Carter Building was fifty stories tall. The glass and steel gleamed against the Chicago sky. I felt completely out of place as I walked in. My cheap heels clicked on the shiny floor. Men and women in impeccable suits strolled past me with effortless confidence.

"Sophie Miller," I told the security guard. "Interview at four thirty."

"Executive offices. Forty-second floor," he said, handing me a visitor's ID.

Executives?

My knees felt weak. By the time the elevator doors opened on the forty-second floor, my hands were sweaty.

The receptionist looked like a model. Perfect hair. Perfect smile.

"You must be Sophie," he said. "Mr. Carter is ready for you."

Mr. Carter. Richard Carter. The CEO.

He led me down a long hallway. The walls were covered with awards and photos of the Carter family at elegant parties and charity events. At the end was a large, dark wooden door with Richard Carter's name in gold lettering.

He touched it and then opened it for me.

Richard Carter stood behind a massive desk. The city skyline shimmered behind him through the large windows. He had silver hair, piercing gray eyes, and impeccable posture.

"Miss Miller," he said, gesturing to the chair. "Please, sit down."

I sat down. My heart was beating so loudly I thought I could hear it.

He looked at my resume. "Pre-med at Northwestern. Top of your class. But you dropped out two years ago."

"My father passed away," I said. My voice was low. "Someone had to take care of my family."

She looked at me with a face I couldn't read. "You're applying for an executive assistant job. Don't you think you're overqualified?"

"I need this job, Mr. Carter," I said, forcing myself to look him in the eye. "I learn fast. I work hard. I can handle whatever you give me."

"Whatever it takes," he repeated. "That kind of determination is rare. And sometimes dangerous."

"It's not dangerous," I said. "It's necessary."

Her eyes changed slightly. Perhaps there was respect there. Or curiosity.

"The work is difficult," she said. "Long hours. Highly confidential information. Schedules. Meetings. My last assistant quit after two weeks."

"I'm not going to quit," I said.

"You'll be working closely with me. And sometimes with my son, Killian Carter," he said.

I nodded, but the name meant nothing to me yet.

"The salary is ninety thousand a year," he said. "Full medical benefits for you and your family."

I couldn't breathe for a second. Ninety thousand. Health insurance. Hope exploded in my chest so fast I almost shuddered.

"When can you start?" he asked.

"Monday," I said. "Or sooner. Whenever you want."

She smiled slightly. "Monday is fine."

I left his office feeling like I was floating. The cold air outside couldn't touch the warm joy in my chest. For the first time in months, the future didn't scare me.

I called Kayla.

"We're going out tonight," I said. I couldn't stop smiling. "I got the job."

She screamed so loudly I pulled the phone away. "I knew it. I'm going to call Mia. Don't even try to stay home. We're going to have a big celebration."

This time, I didn't argue.

This time, hope felt real.