The steam clung to her skin. The dishes wouldn't stop. Every tray Sasha washed was replaced with two more. It was a losing game, but she kept playing.
Luis ran in, breathless. "Three more orders waiting on plates!"
Sasha wiped her forehead. "Start plating on to-go containers if you have to."
He nodded, no argument.
The servers worked double time, Reed sprinted between prep and plating, and Carla appeared at the kitchen door, eyes wide.
"Sasha, are you—"
"I'm fine," Sasha said, loading another rack.
Carla hesitated. "You need backup."
Sasha paused.
This was it — her moment. The old her would have snapped, demanded help, thrown a plate, cursed the universe.
Instead, she took a breath.
"Luis," she called, "rotate with me. Fifteen-minute shifts. We keep this moving."
Luis nodded.
Reed stepped forward. "I can help too. I've seen you do it."
Carla smiled faintly. "Look at that. A real team."
For the next hour, they moved like a unit.
No yelling. No drama. Just work, rhythm, and trust.
By 3:00 p.m., the last plate was clean.
Sasha stood alone at the sink, water cooling, hands aching — but for the first time, she didn't feel tired.
She felt whole.
Carla approached quietly.
"You've changed this place."
Sasha didn't look up. "I just stopped surviving it."
Carla handed her the new schedule — her name on every lead slot.
"You earned it."
Sasha smiled softly. "Guess I did."