The smell of ammonia clung to my skin as I unlocked the front door, my feet sore from another 13-hour shift at the Westfield Hotel. I was exhausted but driven by the thought of Lena’s upcoming graduation, knowing that every late night and penny saved was for her future. I collapsed into a kitchen chair, my eyes landing on the envelope taped to the fridge—the graduation ceremony program. This was the moment I had worked tirelessly for, and I just wanted to see my girl walk across that stage.

The next day, after another long day of cleaning, I called Lena to discuss the graduation details. Her response shocked me; she asked me not to wear my work uniform, wanting me to dress “normal” for the event. The words stung, making me feel like my identity was something to be hidden. I stood in front of my closet that night, torn between wearing something she would approve of and staying true to myself. Frustrated, I wrote down all the sacrifices I had made for her education, determined to show her the reality behind my work.