At 9:17 p.m., Ruby stared at the laptop screen open on the dining table.
Dozens of job applications lined the screen, all with the same status: Rejected. Some of them had not even made it past the interview stage. Ruby had sent cover letters to retail companies, small agencies, administrative offices, and even online stores offering work from home. She tailored her resume, changed her photo, polished her opening sentences, and waited.
Nothing changed.
She hit refresh one more time, as if an answer might suddenly appear simply because she hoped hard enough.
Still nothing.
Ruby leaned back in her chair. On the floor, Mikhayla sat in rabbit-print pajamas. The two-year-old hugged her stuffed doll while banging a plastic spoon against an empty bowl.
“More,” she said.
Ruby turned toward her. “It’s all gone, Honey.”
Mikhayla looked at the bowl, then stared at her mother with the innocent certainty that adults always had a way to fix things. When Ruby didn’t immediately bring her something, the little girl’s lips began to tremble.
Ruby hurriedly smiled.
“I’ll make you some bread later, okay?”
She got up and opened the cupboard. There was still a packet of instant noodles tucked behind the rice jar. Ruby cooked them with a little extra water so the broth would look like it filled the bowl. Mikhayla accepted the food with a little round of applause, as if Ruby had just done something extraordinary.
Ruby smiled and turned her face away.
She wasn’t starving. Their family still had enough food for a few days, and Jordan still received a paycheck every month. They weren’t poor. They could pay for their day-to-day needs, even if they had to be careful and put off a few wants.
But their lives felt increasingly cramped.
The problem wasn’t one huge bill or a house on the verge of foreclosure. The problem was the feeling that everyone else was moving forward while Ruby stood in the same place, watching only their backs as they disappeared into the distance.
Her phone vibrated on the table.
A message from the old friends’ group chat.
Ruby didn’t open it right away. She could already guess what the conversation was about: promotions, changing offices, new businesses, photos from bright workspaces, or congratulations for someone who had just finished school.
Once, Ruby had always been part of conversations like that.
She had been a girl who actively joined discussions, who could talk at length about books, movies, campus policies, even small things other people didn’t consider important. She enjoyed asking questions, sharing her opinions, and making the people around her think along with her. Among her friends, Ruby wasn’t the smartest, but she always had something to say.
Now, she more often repeated the same sentences over and over.
“Has Mikhayla eaten?”
“Are there still any diapers?”
“Is Jordan home yet?”
“What do you want for dinner?”
Mikhayla lifted her spoon.
“Yummy.”
“Yummy?” Ruby sat beside her.
Mikhayla nodded vigorously, then held the spoon out to Ruby.
Ruby pretended to taste it. “Wow, it’s so good.”
For Mikhayla, that little lie was enough to make her laugh. The laughter filled their room, clung for a moment to the walls where the paint was beginning to peel, then vanished when the sound of a motorcycle stopped in front of the house.
Jordan came in a few seconds later. His face looked older than it had that morning. He set his bag down by the door and kissed Mikhayla’s head before sitting down.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Yes,” Ruby replied.
Jordan looked at the bowl on the table, then at the laptop that was still on. “Any news?”
Ruby gave him a faint smile. “Not yet.”
“Nothing from yesterday either?”
“The status on yesterday’s one changed.”
“To what?”
Ruby looked at the screen. “Rejected.”
Jordan pulled out the chair beside her. He didn’t say anything right away. He only stared at the rows of failed applications, as if all those rejections were something he could fight if he looked at them long enough.
“You still want to keep trying?” he asked softly.
Ruby closed the laptop. “If I don’t try, what am I supposed to do?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“I know.” Ruby rubbed her face. “I know you’re not blaming me.”
Jordan fell silent.
They still loved each other. That was precisely why they were both too careful when they spoke. Neither of them wanted to make the other feel even more like a failure than they already did.
“I just feel…” Ruby stopped, searching for words that wouldn’t sound like a complaint. “Everyone already has a life of their own. Mireya has her job. Our friends are getting promoted, moving to different cities, building things. I’m happy for them. I really am. But every time I open that group chat, I feel like someone left behind at a station after the last train has pulled away.”
Jordan reached for her hand.
“You take care of Mikhayla.”
“I know.”
“That’s not the same as standing still.”
Ruby looked at their joined hands. “I know that, too. But I miss being Ruby, the person who had opinions about something besides the price of household necessities.”
Jordan had no answer that could fix the feeling. He only held Ruby’s hand tighter.
After Mikhayla fell asleep, Ruby cleaned up the kitchen alone. Water ran in a thin stream from the faucet. In the reflection of the dark window, she saw a woman in a wrinkled house shirt, her hair tied back carelessly, with dark circles beneath her eyes that even the dim light couldn’t hide.
Once, people often said Ruby had a memorable face.
Her mother liked displaying Ruby’s photos in the living room. Her father often mentioned her name when talking to the neighbors. At school and college, Ruby had always been surrounded by friends. There was always some guy stealing glances at her, sending her messages, or offering to drive her home.
She didn’t miss those men. She only missed the feeling that came when the world looked at her and saw someone attractive, intelligent, and full of possibilities.
Now, she didn’t even know when the last time had been that someone looked at her without needing something from her.
Ruby dried her hands, then opened the bottom drawer to look for a charging cable. Her hand touched a thin, faded white box.
Her old phone.
Ruby almost put it back. But that night, after seeing so many rejections and reading messages about other people’s successes, she carried the phone to the table.
The battery still had a little charge left.
When the screen lit up, the old photo gallery opened automatically. Photos she hadn’t seen in years filled the screen: her parents’ house, Mireya with short hair and a wide smile, a lopsided birthday cake, the evening sky, and Ruby herself—much younger, standing beneath a tree in a simple blue dress.
She touched the photo.
At first, it was only warmth.
Then the sound of wind reached her ears.
Ruby smelled freshly cut grass and the soft perfume she used to wear. Evening light touched her skin. Someone laughed in the distance. Mireya called her name. Her mother said, “Ruby, don’t move. You’re so beautiful.”
Ruby held her breath.
For a moment, she wasn’t in the kitchen. She was standing in the yard of her parents’ house, with longer hair, a light blue dress, and a heart that hadn’t yet been filled with comparisons.
A male friend made a joke near the fence. Mireya laughed. Her father called Ruby over to show her a photo he had just taken. Everyone seemed to be waiting for her to say something, as if her opinion mattered.
And Ruby answered boldly, just like she used to.
The feeling came back so completely that she forgot she was crying.
When Mikhayla’s voice came from the bedroom, the warmth slowly receded. The smell of grass became the smell of frying oil. Mireya’s laughter disappeared. The phone screen once again showed a still photograph.
Ruby stared at the photo for a long time.
Mikhayla called again, more softly this time.
“Mom…”
Ruby wiped her cheek. She walked to the bedroom, lifted her little girl, and hugged her tightly.
“Mom’s still here,” she whispered.
Mikhayla rested her head on Ruby’s shoulder. The child’s small breaths gradually settled into a steady rhythm.
Ruby returned to the dining table after a while. The old phone was still on.
She was about to turn it off when a notification appeared beneath the photo she had just touched.
New photo added.
Ruby frowned. There was no download icon, no sender’s name, and no date. Only a small, dark image had appeared among the old photos.
She opened it.
The photo showed Mikhayla’s bedroom from an angle no one could possibly have taken it from. Her little girl was asleep, hugging her stuffed doll, while Ruby stood in the doorway with tears wetting her face.
The time the photo was taken was written beneath the image.
9:17 p.m.
Exactly a few minutes ago.
Ruby stopped breathing.
On the screen, the version of herself in the photo slowly lifted her head.
Then she stared straight at Ruby.