THE MAFIA'S BROKEN STRIPPER.

WHEN THE WORLD FEELS HEAVY....

She made it through another five minutes, maybe less of staring at her computer screen, pretending to work while the whispers gnawed at her from all directions.

The words were too low to make out, but she didn’t need to hear them clearly to know they were about her. Every time she reached for her mouse, her hand trembled just enough to make her furious.

Finally, she pushed her chair back, stood, and walked toward the far end of the hallway without saying a word.

The office bathroom was mercifully empty. She stepped inside, shut the door, and twisted the lock.

For a moment, she just stood there, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands, breathing like she’d just run up a hill. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, their cold glare making the circles under her eyes look darker in the mirror. She glanced at her reflection, then immediately looked away.

The place where her necklace had been felt oddly bare, the skin sensitive as if the silver chain had been part of her. She touched the spot lightly, remembering her mother’s hands fastening it on her eighteenth birthday, the warmth in her mother’s voice when she’d called it “something to keep close, always.”

And now it was in Don Smith’s pocket.

The first tear slipped before she even felt it on her cheek. Then another followed, hot and unrelenting. Within seconds, her body gave way to the weight pressing against her chest, and she was doubled over the sink, her face buried in her trembling hands.

The sobs came fast, deep, ragged, uncontrollable, the kind that shook her whole frame as if her ribs were too fragile to contain her grief.

It wasn’t just about the necklace. It wasn’t just about Don striding in like he owned the building, tearing into her in front of colleagues who now had fresh gossip for the week.

No, this had been building for months, maybe even years, and now, one small moment had tipped it all over.

“Why me?” she gasped between sobs, her voice barely more than a rasp that seemed to vanish in the cramped restroom air.

“Why is it always me?”

The unfairness of it cut deeper than anything Don could have said. Her sister ,the one who had actually been there when their father signed away their peace in exchange for a “deal” was still at home, untouched by the mess.

She hadn’t lifted a finger. She hadn’t even flinched when the first repayment came due. Instead, she filled her days with laughter and filtered photos, stretching out on the couch until noon, living as if the debt didn’t exist.

But for Jannella, the debt was a living, breathing shadow that followed her everywhere. She was the one dragging herself out of bed while it was still dark, squeezing into suffocating buses, working herself raw for paychecks that evaporated into someone else’s mistake.

She was the one swallowing her pride each month to make “partial payments” that barely scratched the surface. She was the one being cornered, shamed, and stripped of the few things she still held dear.

She pressed the heel of her palm against her mouth to muffle the sounds, but it was useless. The sobs kept coming, harder, sharper, until her breathing turned uneven. Her knees buckled under the heaviness, and she caught herself against the wall, the cold tiles pressing into her shoulder.

Her eyes blurred so badly that she could barely make out her reflection in the mirror.

She shook her head slowly, her hair falling loose around her face. As if denying it might somehow rewrite the story. As if she could somehow wake up in a life where she wasn’t the default sacrifice.

“Why am I the one paying for everyone’s mistakes?” she whispered again, her voice raw and trembling, knowing full well there was no answer coming.

The sound of her own voice in the empty bathroom only made it worse. She slid down the wall, pulled her knees to her chest, and let herself cry until her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps.

And even then, she knew no amount of tears would change the fact that she had to walk back out there, face those same stares, and keep working.

By the time Jannella finally stood, her face was blotchy, and her throat felt raw. She splashed cold water over her cheeks, patted them dry with rough paper towels, and forced herself to take three deep breaths before unlocking the door.

The hallway felt impossibly long, as though someone had stretched it while she was gone. Each step was heavier than the last, her shoes clicking softly against the floor, carrying her toward the invisible wall of eyes she knew would be waiting. The closer she got, the more her pulse quickened, not from fear exactly, but from that familiar, gnawing discomfort that came with knowing she’d been the subject of whispers.

When she stepped back into the office, the shift was almost tangible. Conversations didn’t exactly stop, but their tone changed, and their rhythm altered. Some voices dipped into a quieter register, while others trailed off mid-sentence. She didn’t need to look around to know what was happening; the weight of it pressed against her skin.

A few people kept their gazes fixed on their screens, tapping at keyboards with exaggerated focus, as though their lives depended on finishing whatever was in front of them. Others weren’t so subtle, their eyes slid toward her the second she crossed the threshold, curiosity sparking like static in the air. She couldn’t tell which was worse: the ones pretending not to notice or the ones who didn’t bother hiding it.

She didn’t give them the satisfaction of hesitation. She simply walked, steady and deliberate, back to her desk. The chair’s legs scraped faintly against the floor as she sat, her back straight, her gaze locked on her monitor as if the glowing screen could shield her from every side glance, every muffled laugh that prickled at the edges of her hearing.

Her hands drifted into her bag with quiet precision, fishing out her phone as though she were retrieving something fragile. She unlocked it without thinking, the familiar motion comforting in its normalcy. The screen lit up, and for a moment, she just stared at it, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

A lump formed in her throat, not from the eyes still on her, but from the sudden, aching need to reach for someone who wouldn’t judge her, who wouldn’t see her as a problem to talk about over lunch.

Slowly, she began to type.

Jannella: Hey babe… are you busy?

She hadn’t expected him to answer right away, but his reply came almost instantly, the screen lighting up in her hand.

Kay: Never too busy for you. What’s going on?

Her throat tightened at the words, a strange mix of relief and sadness welling up. She blinked fast, forcing herself to focus on the keyboard before the tears could blur her vision again.

Jannella: Don came to my office today… in front of everyone. He said things… loud enough for them to hear. Then he took my necklace, the one Mum gave me. I’ve never felt so… so humiliated in my life.

She watched the little dots appear, then disappear, then appear again, like he was trying to find the right words but kept deleting them. Her stomach twisted in the waiting.

Kay: Oh, baby… I’m so sorry. I hate that I wasn’t there. That’s… that’s not okay. Not even close.

Her eyes prickled, but she forced herself to keep reading, clinging to every word.

Kay: You’ve been carrying too much for too long, more than anyone should. And none of this is your fault. You don’t deserve to be spoken to like that or made to feel small, not by him, not by anyone.

Kay: I’m proud of you, Jannella. You’re stronger than you think, even when it feels like you’re breaking.

Her thumbs trembled as she typed her next message, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Jannella: I’m just… tired, Kay. It feels like I’m paying for everyone else’s mistakes. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep holding everything together.

The dots appeared again, this time steady, his reply following almost immediately.

Kay: Then let me carry some of it with you. You’re not alone in this , not as long as I’m here. And I am here, Jannella… always.

She bit her lower lip, staring at the words until they blurred, reading them over and over like she needed them to sink past her skin and settle somewhere deeper.

It was so easy for her to forget that someone cared, really cared until he reminded her like this.

Kay: What are you having for lunch?

Her thumbs hesitated before typing.

Jannella: I don’t even know… I’m not really hungry.

The reply came almost immediately.

Kay: Too bad. I’m ordering your favorite. And before you even think about arguing, save it. It’ll be at your desk before your lunch break.

Jannella: Babe…

Kay: No arguments. Just eat it when it comes. Think of it as… a hug you can taste.

That last line pulled at something inside her. She pressed her lips together, but the smile still found its way through, small, reluctant, but warm enough to push back, just a little, against the sting of humiliation from earlier.

Her eyes lingered on the chat for a moment longer, her fingers tracing the edge of the phone like it was something precious. The office around her still felt heavy, but now there was a quiet reminder tucked into her day, a reminder that somewhere out there, someone loved her enough to make sure she was fed, comforted, and not left to fight alone.

The hours crawled by until the soft ding of the reception phone cut through the low hum of office chatter. Jannella barely looked up until the front desk officer’s voice floated over the cubicles.

“Delivery for… Jannella.”

Every head within earshot seemed to turn. She could already feel the weight of their curiosity pressing in, the not-so-subtle glances, the quick whispers. Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to stand, smoothing her skirt like she had nothing to be self-conscious about.

The delivery man handed her a neatly packed paper bag, the warm scent instantly betraying what was inside, her favorite Creamy Pasta with grilled chicken and fried plantains, exactly the way she liked it.

Her fingers tightened around the handle, and she bit back the sudden urge to smile too wide.

On the bag was a small sticky note in Kay’s handwriting:

Eat well, my strong girl. ❤️

Her throat tightened.

Walking back to her desk, she caught a few lingering looks from coworkers, some curious, others clearly trying to figure out who sent it. A few exchanged knowing smiles, but she didn’t flinch or look away. Instead, she placed the bag gently on her desk, sat down, and unwrapped the food like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The first bite was almost enough to undo her again, not because she was hungry, but because every mouthful felt like Kay’s way of saying, "I see you." I’m here.

Her phone buzzed.

Kay: Did it get there?

Jannella: Yes. It’s perfect. Thank you, babe.

Kay: Good. Now eat. No thinking about anything else for the next 20 minutes. Just you, the food, and the thought of me.

This time, she didn’t bother hiding the smile. And for the first time all day, the air around her felt just a little lighter.

To be Continued.....