She just sat there thinking, Maybe this is how my story ends.
Suddenly, a black car slowed near the park entrance. It was not common to see such cars in that area. A woman stepped out—simple dress, dark glasses, confident steps.
It was the same woman whose wallet had been returned.
At first, Mayel thought her eyes were deceiving her. The woman looked at her carefully.
“You,” she said.
“Good afternoon, ma,” Mayel replied immediately, standing up respectfully.
“What are you doing here with your bags?”
Mayel hesitated, then answered honestly.
“I was sent away from the salon.”
“Why?”
Mayel could have lied. She could have blamed others. She could have painted herself as a victim. Instead, she told the story calmly—how she found the wallet, how she returned it, how her boss became angry, how her colleagues accused her, how she was dismissed without payment.
The woman watched her closely. There was no bitterness in Mayel’s voice, no insult, no anger—only truth.
“Are you angry?” the woman asked.
Mayel shook her head slowly.
“No, ma. Maybe it was not my place.”
