I dunno. Something just... it kinda hit me, right. I mean, the whole thing with the craft fair. Someone asked if I could lend a hand, knowing I’m pretty good with a needle and thread, always have been. My mum taught me, bless her. Since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I guess. And honestly, I thought, why not? It’s not like I got much else going on besides trying to make ends meet, right? Another shift at the bakery, another late night counting change. A few extra bucks, maybe some goodwill, a chance to show what I can *really* do, you know? Put those skills to use, maybe even get a little recognition for something I’m genuinely good at. Been a while since that happened, to be fair. Years. Years and years. So I show up, bright and early, feeling… not good, not bad, just there. And they, someone, points me to the back. Tells me to start opening up the boxes. Just… boxes. Cardboard, tape, the whole shebang. For hours. It’s not like I expected a medal, but I figured, at least, I'd be near the action. Maybe help someone set up a display, or even, I don't know, mend a seam on a last-minute item. Something with a bit of finesse. But no. Just the boxes. One after another. A mountain of them. My hands, the ones that can coax silk into something beautiful, they just ripped tape and folded cardboard. My back, already not what it used to be from standing all day, ached. And I just kept thinking, *this* is it? This is what it’s come to? It wasn’t even anger, not really. More like… a dull thud. Like a door closing, real slow, on something I didn’t even realize was still open. I kept going, of course. You always do, don't you? You just keep doing the thing, even when it feels like the whole point of you is being ignored. And I looked around at the people buzzing, setting up their pretty little stalls, and thought, well. At least it's a paycheck, even if it's not *my* paycheck. Just another day. Another shift. The sun'll come up tomorrow, and I’ll still be… here.