Monday morning.
Sasha stared at the schedule taped to the staff board. Next to her name, bold and unmistakable:
Shift Lead.
Luis walked up behind her, sipping coffee. "Look at you. Big boss energy."
Sasha rolled her eyes. "It's just a title."
"It's just pressure," Luis corrected.
By 9:00 a.m., the kitchen was humming.
Orders flying in. Plates stacking. Reed at the dish drop, moving carefully but faster now.
Sasha moved differently today — no apron, clipboard in hand, walking the line, checking on staff.
It felt weird. Powerful, but distant.
"Reed," she called. "You're doing better. Keep that stack low. If you need backup, call me."
Reed gave a thumbs-up. "Thanks, Sasha."
Luis watched the exchange. "You've changed."
Sasha smiled faintly. "Or I'm trying."
At 11:15 a.m., disaster struck.
The prep cook called in sick. No backup. No time.
Sasha had two options: panic… or pivot.
She rolled up her sleeves, stepped into the prep station, and started chopping like her life depended on it.
Luis joined her. "You don't have to—"
"I do," Sasha said. "Shift lead, remember?"
They worked side by side, no shouting, no tension, just rhythm and sweat.
Reed kept dishes clear. Orders moved. The kitchen didn't collapse.
By 3:00 p.m., the shift ended.
Carla appeared. "No mistakes. No complaints."
She handed Sasha a fresh schedule.
"You've earned this."
Sasha smiled. Not big, but real.
As she cleaned up, Reed approached. "You're not like her, you know."
Sasha blinked. "Like who?"
"Debbie."
Sasha thought for a second. Then replied, "I know. I'm me."