When I was twenty-three, I worked as a waitress in a popular restaurant in central London. The kind of place that was always buzzingcheap food, loud music, and queues stretching out the door at lunchtime. I didnt have a contract. No benefits. No security. I was paid cash at the end of each day. If I didnt turn up, I didnt get paid. If I got sick, no one cared. Still, I was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. I memorised the orders, endured rude customers, wiped down tables hungry and exhausted, but I really needed that money.
The day I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. Not because of the baby, but because of work. Even so, I decided to be honest. I walked into my managers office, closed the door, and said,
Im pregnant, but Id like to keep working.
She didnt congratulate me. She just stared back at me, cold and distant.
This isnt a nursery, she told me. Pregnant women slow down, get ill, ask for time off. I need reliable people.
I tried to explain that I felt fine, could stick to the schedule, that I desperately needed this job. She cut me off:
Do me a favour and hand in your apron today.
I finished my shift, sobbing in the bathroom. I left through the back door, carrying my uniform and a carrier bag with my things. No one said goodbye. No one asked questions. When I got home, I sat on my bed and, for the first time, truly felt scaredhow was I going to feed my child?
The months that followed were the toughest of my life. I cleaned other peoples homes, sold jars of jam, homemade pies, and sweets at street corners. I was completely alone. Some nights I slept sitting up, holding my baby, because I couldnt afford a cot. But it was then I started cooking in earnest. A neighbour ordered lunch for her husband, then another for her small office. I began with five lunches a day, then ten, then twenty.
Eventually, I rented a tiny spacea cooker, two tables, and an old fridge. I named it after myself. I started selling breakfasts, lunch specials, pies, and desserts. I opened at six in the morning and closed at seven in the evening. Work never stopped. My son grew up seeing me work. By the time he was three, he was handing out cups, helping me count pound coins. Then I hired one assistant. Then another.
Today, I run a small business serving fast food and catering for eventsI do corporate breakfasts, made-to-order lunches, and simple catering for birthdays and meetings. Im not wealthy, but I live comfortably. I pay rent, school fees for my son, the bills, and even managed to buy my own equipment.
Five years later, a woman walked into my cafe and asked for the owner. I looked up and immediately recognised her. It was my former managerthe one who sacked me when I was pregnant. I was slimmer now, simply dressed. She looked surprised and asked,
Are you the owner?
I replied,
Yes.
She sat down awkwardly. She told me the restaurant shed managed had closed over a year ago. Her business had failed. Shed tried different jobs, but there was nothing stable. She looked me in the eye and said:
I need work. Things are tough. I know we parted badly, but Im here to ask for a chance.
I was silent for a few seconds, then asked,
Do you remember the day you let me go because I was pregnant?
She lowered her gaze. Said, Yes. Admitted that back then, she only thought about business, not people. I told her that shed left me with nothing that dayfrightened, with no explanation, and a growing belly. That she never gave me a chance.
She asked for forgiveness. She didnt cry, but her voice trembled. Said life had taught her a hard lesson and now she understood a lot more. I took a deep breath and told her I held no hatred, but I run my business differently now. That my staff have clear schedules, respect, and dignity. That I know what its like to work while hungry.
In the end, I offered her a trial shifton my terms: punctuality, respect, and zero humiliation towards anyone. She agreed. Left with tears in her eyes.
I stayed behind the counter, gazing at my kitchen, my tables, my pots, and the journey Ive travelled to get here.
I felt no revenge. I simply realised that healing isnt about inflicting pain on others. Thats the lesson I carry with me.
