“You will get a better one,” he promised. “The Lord does not ignore kindness. Remember what I told you. Your feet are blessed. Something good is coming to you.”
Angela nodded, wiping her tears. “I hope so, Papa.”
Papa James smiled, confident like a man who had seen life’s pattern before.
“Not hope, my child. Believe. Your life will change soon.”
She didn’t know why his words landed so deeply, but they did. They tucked themselves into her chest like a small candle.
She continued walking home.
Her home was one small room with a wooden door that protested whenever it moved. The space smelled like menthol balm, cheap soap, and endurance.
Her mother lay on the bed, thin under a faded wrapper, eyes tired but still bright enough to worry.
“My daughter,” her mother said, pushing herself up slowly, “you are back early. How did it go?”
Angela set the envelope down like it had lost its dignity.
“Mama… they didn’t take me,” she said quietly. “The woman chased me out. She said I looked dirty and slow.”
Her mother’s face fell immediately, as if hope had been slapped.
“Oh no. Angela, what will we do? My medications… you know they will soon finish.”
Angela took her mother’s hands firmly.
“Mama, don’t worry,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. “God will provide. I will get another job. I won’t stop trying.”
Her mother sighed deeply. “My child, you work so hard. Sometimes I fear I’m a burden to you.”
Angela shook her head sharply.
“Mama, never say that. You are my blessing. I will find something. Even if I have to trek to ten places a day, I will do it.”
Her mother wiped a tear. “May God help you, my daughter.”
“He will,” Angela said, though her stomach still tightened with fear. “Something good is coming. I can feel it.”
Two days later, Angela was still walking street to street, asking for any small job. Her legs hurt, but desperation doesn’t respect pain.
Near a kiosk, she saw Papa James again, sitting calmly on a stone.
“Papa!” she called, surprised and relieved.
He smiled gently. “My child.”
“Where do you stay?” Angela asked, suddenly realizing she didn’t even know his story.
Papa James looked away for a moment, then pointed. “Behind that big shop. The owner allows me to sleep there at night when they close.”
Angela’s heart dropped. “Papa… you sleep on the floor?”
He shrugged lightly, as if the floor and dignity were old friends. “Don’t worry yourself. I am fine.”
“Have you eaten today?” she asked, already knowing the answer by the way his smile looked thin.
He exhaled. “No, my child.”
Angela stood immediately. “Okay, Papa. Let me go home and bring you food. I will come back quickly.”
He stopped her gently. “But you said you are job hunting.”
“Please,” she insisted. “Let me help.”
Papa James studied her face, then nodded slowly.
“All right,” he said, “but give me your phone number before you go.”
Angela blinked. “Papa, I will be back soon.”
He shook his head. “No, my daughter. I need it now. You never can tell.”
So Angela reached into her small bag and brought out a folded paper.
“Here,” she said. “I wrote my number earlier. I always carry it in case someone needs to call me for work.”
Papa James smiled warmly. “You think ahead. Good child.”
“Papa, please wait here,” Angela said, already stepping backward. “Don’t go anywhere. My house is not far.”
She ran.
She packed food quickly. Rice. Stew. A small bottle of water. Not much, but made with urgency and love.
Then she rushed back to the kiosk.
But Papa James was gone.
She spun in a circle, panic rising like smoke.
“Papa?” she called.
Nothing.
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