It was snowing, and the roads were icy. Working in the service industry was unrewarding and tiring, but the bills needed to be paid. Late at night was always when the troublesome customers arrived, and tonight was no different. It wasn't regularly that Mary worked the night shift, thankfully. Today, there was nobody to cover her shift, and she needed the money anyway. When Mary was away from Malachi, she worried about him. The toddler had been attending the same babysitter since his birth a year ago, and Mary trusted the caregiver, but it was a mother's nature to worry.

"Good evening," she said, smiling at the two older men seated in front of her. "My name is Mary. Can I get you started with some drinks?"

A year and a half ago, Mary was kicked out of the house after telling her mother she was pregnant. It made no sense, really, that a mother would refuse to teach her children about safe sex, and then become irate when one became pregnant. Zina, who lived in a bigger city, took Mary in temporarily until she found a place to stay. If it weren't for Zina, there was really no telling what state Mary would be in now.

The worst types of customers were the entitled ones. Mary had met a lot. A family would come in, insisting on a discount for their uncle's neighbour's dog's birthday, threatening to sue the company if they had to pay full price. It was hard to make money, and even harder to save it, but a girl had bills to pay. These days, a month's pay cheque didn't go all that far.

The restaurant was busy tonight. By the time Mary got off work, it would be nearly morning.

"Thank you, sweetheart," said one of the men when Mary set down the drinks. She'd only just been given permission to serve alcohol after turning eighteen several months ago. Serving alcohol, though, meant dealing with unruly customers.

Mary was tired. Ever since her son had been born, she was always tired. "Are you gentlemen ready to order, or did you need a bit more time?" At work, everything she said was rehearsed. By the end of a shift, she was always exhausted and sore. Toddlers didn't care. Being a mother was a full-time job, and nobody ever even got paid for it.

The man on the opposite end of the table was more sophisticated looking than the other. Setting his menu down on the table in front of him, he smiled fondly at Mary. "What do you recommend, honey?" It wasn't uncommon for an older man to refer to Mary in terms of endearment, but it always made her uncomfortable. She supposed it was just inevitable for a woman in the service industry.

Some days, being friendly was too hard. And truthfully, Mary didn't much like eating at restaurants. Since becoming a mother, she'd been focused on preparing filling, nutritious meals. After giving the men some generic choices, they glanced at one another, giving Mary an easy order. At work, she always carried a small notepad. Though her memory was good, she'd hate to forget something in the flustering environment.

When she discovered she was pregnant, Kezia was the first of Mary's siblings who knew. Kezia was always the most honest and genuine, which made Mary feel comforted. The thing about Kezia, though, was that she couldn't keep a secret like others could, and so the truth always eventually came out. The truth was: if people found out the kind of secrets Mary's father had, he would lose his reputation in a heartbeat.

The restaurant was noisy, filled with families chattering and kicking off their weekend. Even on her days off, Mary never really got time to herself. She paid her best friend to babysit Malachi, but the cost of child care added up, and rent wasn't cheap.

"Here you are, sir." Mary set the first man's plate down on the table in front of him. "Be careful, it's hot." This would have been common knowledge, for most. She was required to warn customers anyway. "Is there anything else I can get for you?" Having balanced the second dish on her arm, she served it to the second man. Her feet hurt. It felt like they'd give out at any moment.

One of the men smiled, giving Mary an appreciative once-over. He was her father's age, maybe, and was well-dressed. She was used to being looked at this way by men at work, and even outside of work. Last week, she'd been followed down the street after finishing her shift. "Well, you're a pretty young lady. I don't suppose I could get your phone number." He was right. Mary didn't give away her personal information to people she didn't know, especially men her father's age. He was polite enough. This didn't matter.

Mary smiled grimly. "No, sorry." Most days, it seemed like saying no wasn't enough as a woman. She didn't have to say it a lot. Nobody wanted to date a single mother with poor mental health.

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There were more tables to tend to. The rejected man, solemn, watched her go.

Mary gave birth to her son alone, very early in the morning. Zina had promised to be there, but got called into work at the last moment. Mary wasn't bitter about it. The duty of a firefighter is much more important than watching your sister give birth. It would have been nice to have a mother who was gentle and kind like the mothers of Mary's friends. It would have been nice to feel genuinely cared for growing up, but what's done is done, after all. There was only a matter, now, of trying to be a better mother than her own.

When the men at her table left, Mary went to clean. It seemed that the most well-off of people left the littlest tips, leaving the generosity to those who were struggling to get by. The poor knew what it was like to struggle, Mary thought, and so they were more willing to help. It figured. The five dollar bill on the table was a small portion of the order, but it was better than nothing. As someone who never graduated high school, Mary found it hard to get a job, even in a minimum wage position. Everybody claimed to pity single moms, but no one did anything to make their lives easier.

Tabitha-Grace Adams was a friend of Mary's from a prenatal class. It was hard to make friends, unless you were social, or attractive. Mary looked like her father, which she regretted. Orion Zoan was a big name in the Christian community. Ask any churchgoer, and they'd say they knew of him. Mary was uncomfortable by this. Knowing the man on a personal level meant she was privy to secrets, and any one of them would horrify his community.

Tabitha lived in the same neighbourhood as Mary, which made pick up easy after a long shift. "Thank you!" Mary owed the woman most of her pay cheque. Tabitha gave her a discount, but everyone had bills to pay. "Did he behave?" Malachi, sleeping in his car-seat, had a streak of milk on his cheek. Mary wasn't ready to take him back. That was the job of a mother.

Tabitha had two children of her own, and was a much better mother than Mary. She smiled, moving Malachi's diaper bag closer to the door. "Mostly." Everyone talked about falling in love with their baby at first sight. Mary never experienced this. Her baby felt like somebody else's, and it was strange. It was strange not to feel a connection to your own child. "He fell asleep about an hour ago, so I just put him in the seat to wait for you. We had carrots and potatoes for dinner."

Mary always paid in cash. It was dark, and way past the toddler's bedtime. It wasn't like he slept much at night, anyway. Mary didn't remember the last time she got a full night's sleep.

When Malachi was three months old, Mary moved out of Zina's house and back to the city she grew up in. Before getting a job as a waitress, she worked as a cashier at a clothing store, which wasn't much better. She preferred walking to standing in one spot all day. Work is work. It was hard and uncommon to find a job you actually enjoyed.

In her first weeks of pregnancy, Mary planned on terminating. She was young, alone, fooled by an older man she thought she could trust. Maybe motherhood would give Mary purpose, maybe it would give her something to live for after all those years. This was not a good reason to keep a baby. Mary couldn't think of anything better.

Malachi cried. It was a loud shriek that echoed through the van, giving Mary a splitting headache. She slowed. "Please stop, Malachi." He was tired, or wet, or hungry. It was hard to tell. Outside of town, the roads were icy.

She hadn't visited the farm since moving out. Returning to the place made her chest hurt.

"Stop it, Malachi!" Her voice was a shriek, competing with his. "Why do you always cry?" Mary should have never become a mother. It was too late now.

At the far end of the house, Asher's window was covered with dusty blinds. His room was always dusty. Yanking the car-seat out of the back of her car, Mary hammered on her brother's window.

He might have been asleep. She hammered again, louder. The pine tree in the yard was bare and snow-covered, a hole still carved in the bark where the kids made a fort. Inside the house, a light flicked on. Afraid of waking someone else, Mary shoved a hand over Malachi's mouth, muffling the sound of his shrieks.

"Wha-?" Asher yawned, his speckled face staring at Mary through the window screen. "What are you doing?" She'd woken him. It wouldn't be the last time.

The car-seat shook. The toddler wailed, and then fell fast asleep. "I need you to take him."

Outside, the wind began to howl. Asher frowned, glancing at the small boy, and then glancing at Mary. "It's the middle of the night." Asher was a pushover. Everybody knew this about him. The boy was far too timid to risk hurting anybody's feelings. "What am I supposed to do with him?"

"I don't know." There were toys in the bag, clothes, milk. There was everything a toddler could want. "Just give him some milk and put on a movie. He'll go to sleep. I just really need a break." Asher's glasses were foggy from the cold. "Thanks." Without waiting for a reply, Mary lifted the toddler through the window, dropping him into Asher's hands. "Here's his bag. I'll be back before Dad comes downstairs. Text me if you need anything!"

Malachi cried again. Asher scrunched his face. "Mary!"

She was gone, trudging through the snow back to her waiting car.