By the end of her shift, Sasha's feet ached, her back hurt, and her head buzzed.
No one had congratulated her. There was no applause, no badge of honor for making it through without Debbie.
There was just work — endless, ordinary, relentless.
She stood at the dish drop, watching Max scrub plates under warm water. He worked slowly, but with care. His hands still trembled a bit.
Sasha approached quietly. "You can clock out. I'll finish these."
Max looked up, surprised. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Go rest. You did good today."
He smiled — not big, but real — and left without another word.
The kitchen emptied.
Sasha stayed behind, scrubbing the last tray, her reflection rippling in the water.
She had won. Debbie was gone.
She had her shifts, her control.
But it didn't feel like victory.
It felt like… responsibility.
She remembered yelling at Max. The look in his eyes. The silence from Luis.
She thought about Debbie — how many shifts that woman had worked, angry, exhausted, isolated, and how no one had ever really asked why she wasn't happy.
Sasha dipped the final plate into the sink, washed it clean.
As she clocked out, Luis called from the back, "See you tomorrow, boss."
Sasha smiled faintly. "Don't call me that."
"You earned it."
She didn't answer. She just walked out into the night air, alone.
And for the first time, she understood:
Sometimes, winning means you carry the weight.