The old man watched her, his eyes wide with a kind of cautious expectation, the way someone looks at rain clouds after drought—wanting to believe but afraid to be disappointed.
“Papa,” Angela said, and the word sounded like a decision, “take it.”
She pressed the money into his palm. His fingers closed slowly around it, still shaking.
“This is my last money,” she added, forcing a smile she did not fully feel yet, “but it’s from my heart. Don’t worry. I will trek. I have walked one hour before. I can manage.”
The old man stared at her as if she had handed him something heavier than currency.
“No, my child,” he protested, pushing the note back a little, “you need this more than I do. Please, take it back.”
Angela shook her head.
“Papa, let me help you today. Hunger is painful. God will help me reach my interview.”
His eyes watered. He blinked like a man trying to keep his dignity from spilling.
“You are a rare child,” he said quietly. “People pass me every day, but none stop. May the Lord guide your feet. May your name be favored today. You will not go in vain.”
Something warm loosened inside Angela’s chest.
She bowed her head respectfully. “Thank you, Papa.”
Then she walked away, her long trek beginning.
She felt the heat. She felt the sweat. But she did not feel angry.
She felt… light.
Peaceful, even.
As if kindness had lifted something off her back, even if her feet now had to carry more.
“God,” she whispered again, “please let me get this job.”
The compound was bigger than Angela expected. The gate alone looked like it had a salary.
She arrived sweating, tired, and breathing a little too fast, but she straightened her shoulders before she knocked. She wiped her face with the edge of her scarf. She smoothed her dress.
This interview had to work.
