Chapter 2 - The Secret Behind the Door
By 4:00 PM, the lunch rush had finally sputtered out, leaving a quiet lull before the evening shift prep.
Emma hurried down the narrow hallway near the employee lockers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to the old storage room—a cramped, rarely used space filled with spare folding chairs, surplus glassware, and stacked cases of paper napkins.
She locked the door behind her, leaned back against the solid wood, and slid down to the concrete floor.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her trousers, rolling the fabric up over her left knee.
The sight beneath was brutal.
The carbon-fiber socket had rubbed a raw, angry red patch of friction dermatitis against her skin, and a thin line of blood had seeped through her cotton liner. The internal gel pad had slipped out of alignment, pinching her residual limb with every step she had taken during the past three hours.
She unbuckled the suspension strap with a soft hiss of pain, peeled the socket away, and wiped her skin with a damp paper towel from her apron pocket. Her leg throbbed with a dull, sickening ache that felt like fire buried beneath bone.
Just ten more minutes, she told herself, closing her eyes and resting her head against a cardboard box of napkins. Just breathe.
She needed to adjust the alignment bolt on her knee joint. She needed to apply a fresh layer of medicated barrier cream and put on a thicker merino-wool stump sock to absorb the friction.
This was her routine. Multiple times a day, hidden behind locked doors, away from Daniel Mercer’s sharp eyes and biting remarks.
She pulled a small leather pouch from her backpack, withdrawing an Allen wrench and a clean medical pad. Working with quiet, practiced efficiency, she loosened the adjustment socket, realigned the titanium piston, and tightened the locking screw.
As she worked, she thought about Daniel’s words from earlier that afternoon. What exactly is your excuse?
If she told him the truth—that her leg was literally tearing itself apart inside her uniform pants—would he show compassion? Or would he simply view her as a liability? Would he cut her hours, or worse, find a pretext to fire her? In Portland’s competitive restaurant market, jobs that paid thirty dollars an hour with tips were hard to come by, and her medical bills were relentless.
So she kept her mouth shut. She swallowed her pride, bit back her tears, and let him think she was just slow. Just lazy.
Suddenly, a heavy knock rattled the storage room door.
“Emma?”
It was Daniel’s voice. Sharp, impatient, and entirely unwelcome.
Emma froze, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
“Emma, are you in there? The evening reservation sheets just dropped, and I need you to audit the seating chart before the 5:00 PM rush.”
“I’m... I’m finishing up an inventory check, Mr. Mercer!” Emma called back, her voice tight and breathless as she frantically tried to roll her uniform pants back down over her exposed prosthetic limb.
“Inventory check? That’s Tyler’s job,” Daniel snapped, rattling the doorknob. “Open the door, Emma. We don’t have time for hide-and-seek.”
“Give me one minute!” she pleaded, sweat beading on her forehead as she struggled to buckle her boot.
“Open the door now, Emma. That’s an order.”
Before Emma could reach the deadbolt, the lock clicked. Daniel had used the master key kept in the manager’s office.
May you like
The heavy wooden door swung inward.
Daniel stood in the doorway, a scowl etched across his handsome face, ready to deliver another reprimand. But as the door opened wide and his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the storage room, the words died instantly in his throat.
