Problems with the uniform

The doubt nagged at her from the moment she opened her eyes, a pulse of wounded dignity that screamed at her not to go back, but necessity, cold and pragmatic, was stronger. The rent, the instant noodles, the debt that grew like a shadow—all of it pushed her feet back toward the aquarium. She dressed in her usual armor: a loose cotton sweatshirt that smelled of comfort and worn jeans rolled up at the ankles, a desperate attempt to reclaim at least a shred of the normality she had once had.

Upon opening her locker, Magi found only emptiness. There was no trace of the navy blue uniform. A chill ran down her spine. With her heart sinking in her chest, she headed to May’s office.

He was waiting for her behind his desk, as if he had been counting the minutes. "Magi, you're late. And I see you're without a uniform," he said, with an arched eyebrow and a tone of false concern. "Too bad. The rules are clear: no uniform, no work. And there's only one per employee."

She pleaded, her voice a thread of sound, arguing about her need, the money, the rent. May listened with an exaggerated patience, toying with a pen.

"Well," he conceded at last, with a sigh that sounded utterly fake. "I suppose you could take the day off... but come back at closing time. There's a special event for donors, and I need trustworthy staff." He paused, letting the initial relief wash over her before adding, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes: "And be sure to bring the 'uniform' I gave you yesterday."