It was one of those days. She was running late, because she had overslept. Fortunately, she had no meetings this morning, but she had a bunch of work to do and she was usually never late. She closed her apartment door behind her and ran down the stairs. Her high heels went click, click, click, all the way down. She checked her watch. She might just make the train, if she hurried. She walked faster, trying to avoid colliding with other people. She had just come past the revolving door, when she felt a gush of air. Ouch… She avoided a man, who was running faster than her, arms flailing frantically. His red scarf was drifting behind him and she could hear his panting as he passed her. She heard the sound from the train and started running too. She couldn’t miss this train…

She got on the train just before the doors closed and sat down panting. She opened her jacket and swept a hand over her forehead. The sweat was wet against her hand. Beside her people sat quietly, several were checking their iPhones, some were working on their portable laptops or iPads, others listened to music through earphones. The metro was full as usual in the morning. She had been lucky to get a seat. She moved a little so a girl with black straight hair could sit down beside her.

One metro transfer and 30 minutes later she was there. She could see the low two-story grey buildings from afar as she slowly approached her office. The buildings looked as desolate as she felt being deported to an office outside central Washington, D.C., but at least she within metro distance. Some of her colleagues still talked about the time they could get their bagels and coffee on their way to work downtown. It was before her time…

She slowly breathed the cold air in and out, forcing her body to move forward. It was as if there was a kind of resistance holding her back, because the more she approached her office, the more she slowed down. Take it one day at a time, she reminded herself for the 105thtime. One day, she would fly away. One day, she would be able to go into her boss’ office and say: “I quit!” But not today.

The woman who sat opposite her was young, but she didn’t look it. Barely 22 years old, she already had two kids and another one on the way – with a new man, one who probably didn’t treat her very well from the way she looked. Her eyes were still a little red and downcast and her brown hair hung around her round face like well-worn curtains. She shushed the baby who was acting up again, demanding to be heard.

“He is hungry all the time,” she apologized and turned again to the baby, who just screamed more. “Hush you! I will feed you later!” The 4-year-old girl made a face at her little brother and covered her ears.

Lili was happy that for once she had been able to obtain one of the two meeting rooms; most of the time she and her colleagues had to do the counseling at their desks. She took out a toy and handed it to the mother. They always had some at hand to keep the children occuppied. Soon after, the little boy quieted down. His sister went back to coloring her book.

“Thanks,” his mother said and brushed her hair aside. She was wearing no makeup, but her skin was clean, her clothes likewise. Lili noticed that the little girl’s dress, though worn and probably used before, was clean and her hair washed. At least she’s trying, she thought to herself.

“So… Arlene, what have you been looking for since we last talked?” Lili asked. Arlene was a regular, she had been in and out of the system since she was 18 years old, only able to keep a job for a few months at a time. A baby, a problem with a colleague, a baby again… and so it went.

“I have been looking, I really have. I have applied for at least two jobs a week. Sandwich shops, cafes, cleaning jobs – as we talked about. But they don’t want me and now I am beginning to show, it is impossible to get anyone to hire me,” she said. So just give me the money, Lili thought but didn’t say anything.

“What about your new man? Does he have a job?” she asked.

“He does. He is a bartender. But he cannot feed us all. We are not even married…,” her voice trailed off. So, he doesn’t want to take care of you, Lili couldn’t help thinking with a sudden rage. She really wanted to give that bastard a piece of her mind. “But he does the best he can.” I am sure he does, Lili thought.

What do I get out of this job? she thought as she went back to her place in the big office room, after Arlene had left. It certainly wasn’t optimism on behalf of humankind. Most of her clients were like Arlene; trying to get through life, never really creating a future for themselves, barely doing more than existing. Arlene had once told her she really wanted to be a hairdresser, but when Lili tried to help her, she quickly quit the course and was fired from the place Lili had found for her. In the beginning, Lili had believed she could make a difference, get the women to follow their dreams. For some it had worked. They had gotten jobs and moved on. But most had started out fine, then a new man came, a new baby, or they simply dropped out of school or were fired from their job – and she had to start all over again. So why did she keep doing it? Money, of course – which was essential. It was something Arlene didn’t have, like so many other of her clients. A future? Not from this job. She sighed as she looked out over the open office space and typed in her report on Arlene for the day.

She knew she should be happy to have a job at all. Several of her former classmates were still looking for a job, working freelance, Starbucks, or odd jobs. It just was not what she had dreamed about when she finished her Master’s in Journalism. The Washington Post, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal. She was going to be an investigative reporter like Woodward and Bernstein, exposing corruption and political plots. Or at least she was going to be a good reporter like her dad. She suppressed the pain. He would have wanted her to succeed, they both would have. He expected nothing less from her. She bit her lip and went back to typing.

“Did you just talk to Arlene? I saw her leaving,” her colleague Sarah asked with a concerned look in her dark-brown almond shaped and long black lashes against olive skin. As usual the slim, girl-like 27-year-old woman was considerate and compassionate. Probably why she was so good at her job.

“Yes. She has another baby on the way with a new man. One who doesn’t treat her right,” Lili said.

“She really knows how to pick them. When I talked to her, she also had a man who didn’t treat her well and left just before the baby came,” Lucy, a tall dark-skinned woman with long black hair in braids, intervened.

“I wish there was a law against it, but I guess legislation wouldn’t solve her problem,” Lili said with regret.

“Nope. No rule against bad judgment and stupidity,” Lucy said.

“You cannot regulate feelings,” Sarah said. Lili and Lucy reluctantly agreed.

It had started so well. She knew she sounded a little bitter, but she couldn’t help herself as she starred out over the open office space, her thoughts drifted back in time despite her attempt to keep them to the present.

Her parents had been so proud when she had been accepted into graduate school at Northwestern University in Chicago. It was one of the best journalism schools in the country with professors from all the big media organizations.

“You are already there. And now you get it in writing,” her father said referring to her work on the student paper in college and several articles she had published, mostly in local papers.

A few months later, none of that seemed to matter. She still remembered being in her room that night, the knocking on her door. Two policemen were standing outside – a man and a woman. They had both looked very serious. The woman was the one who seemed to be in charge. Lili estimated her to be around 35 years old with long slender hands and remarkably calm but sad eyes. The man beside her was very young, fidgeting and avoiding her eyes. Something is wrong, Lili thought, feeling a dark cloud of foreboding inside her.

“What happened?” she blurted out.

It took them a moment to answer – a moment, which had seemed like days. In that minute all kind of thoughts ran through her head, mixed up, until they stopped at the unimaginable. Her throat tightened, she could hardly breath.

“My parents?” she croaked at last. The woman nodded.

“I am sorry. Your parents were in a car accident…,” she said but Lili had stopped listening. She felt dizzy and hot all over, everything began to blend together.

She didn’t cry. Not then, not right afterwards. Then she cried a whole lot. It was like she couldn’t stop for several days, sitting in her room, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing, feeling sorry for herself. But then, somehow, the tears stopped. She started getting up in the morning, even when she felt empty and broken inside and just wanted to give up. Then the anger came, this monster inside her, telling her it wasn’t fair, that all the world was against her. She wanted to hit someone, everyone. Some evenings she simply stayed in, too afraid of what she might do.

She had never felt so alone. She had no other family. She was an only child, her grandparents on both sides had died before she was born, and she had no uncles or aunts. It had always been just the three of them, her parents making her feel safe, even when the world turned against her.

She lost her job and her grades dropped so dramatically that she lost her scholarship. At the end of the semester, she had to drop out of school and take a job at the local diner; a job she was not very good at, but it got her through the day. Gradually, she lost the few friends she had from her school. She guessed they just given up as she isolated herself more and more, but they had never been close anyway. In the end, she decided she had to get away and began to apply to other universities. Finally, she was accepted at several and she chose Georgetown University’s program Master’s in Professional Studies in Journalism. The classes were in the evening, but it was cheaper and the curriculum was good. The professors came from all the big media organizations, and it was in Washington, D.C., the center of politics and political journalism. It was three years ago.

Lili sighed and tried to concentrate despite the constant office buzzing of voices and phones ringing when she heard her own phone ringing. She looked at the display. It was Beth, the one friend she hadn’t lost. She smiled. They were going to visit some of Beth’s relatives in Virginia.

“Hi. How are you?” she asked.

“Fine. And you, girlfriend?” Beth asked. It sounded like there was a smile in her voice.

“Good. Just getting the last things done at work. Can I call you back in a minute?” she asked.

“Sure. At least some of us get to go home,” Beth said.

“I thought you liked your job,” Lili teased.

“I do. But too many long hours can be a bitch too,” Beth said.

“Agreed. Talk soon,” Lili said and finished her work. Casting one last look at her desk, she felt a surge of relief that the day was finally over and went out the door.

The cold wind felt good on her face and stopped the tears threatening to come back as her mind drifted back in time. She had tried, she really had, to apply for all kinds of positions from her dream jobs at the big newspapers and magazines to jobs as a journalist at local newspapers, radio, and TV stations all over the United States, even communication jobs at all kinds of organizations. However, a degree only gets you so far, even when it is from a prestigious university like Georgetown, especially when newspapers and magazines were cutting down. Without a top journalism internship (she had paid for her tuition working as a server at a restaurant), her top grades meant absolutely nothing. In the end, she applied for almost everything from journalism to communication jobs to secretary, assistant, salesperson, etc. – anything just to get a job. That was how she had ended up here at a public office, finding jobs for unemployed people.

Lili shook her head, trying to get the depressive thoughts out of her mind, and concentrate on the future. She was looking forward to her trip with Beth. Beth’s family down south had a big house in a little village, and they would have the guest house in the back all to themselves. She took out her phone and called Beth.

“Hi. What’s up?” she asked into the phone.

“Oh, just the trip this weekend. I wanted to know when I should pick you up tomorrow?” Beth said.

“After work would be fine. 5 p.m.?” Lili asked.

“That’s fine. By the way, there may even be a story for you in this trip,” Beth said mysteriously.

“What? A murder in a small town?” Lili asked almost tripping over her own legs. Beth laughed.

“No, nothing so dramatic. It is not a murder but something equally interesting,” Beth said. Lili waited. She was standing just in front of the metro but did not want to lose the connection by going down. She had to get the story first. “Do you remember I told you about the old couple up the street?”

“No, I don’t,” Lili said and shook her head, even though she knew Beth couldn’t see her.

“The husband died over a year ago and the wife was distraught. Then four months ago she started going out and taking men back to her house. It’s a small town, there was a lot of commotion over it,” Beth said.

“I can imagine,” Lili commented.

“She also began dressing up and taking her old jewelry out, buying new ones, some really expensive. Everyone wondered where she got the money from, but we figured it came from her late husband, though they had not been what we would call rich,” Beth said.

“Did she steal it?” Lili asked and walked a little farther away from the metro entrance after a guy almost hit her, running to catch the train.

“You are getting ahead of the story,” Beth said mockingly. “But yes, you are right. It turned out that the jewelry shop in a village 15 miles from there had had jewelry stolen. No break in, but in the morning some of the jewelry was gone. It turned out that one of her lovers worked in the shop and he was stupid enough to show her the code one evening. I guess she lured him into it…”

“That’s amazing. I didn’t know nice old ladies played the seduction game,” Lili said.

“Oh yes. Do you know how they caught her?” Beth asked.

“He saw some of the jewelry on her. Not so clever after all,” Lili said.

“Actually, she was very good at not showing it when he was there. But one day he showed up without calling. The door was open, and he walked in to see her sitting with all the jewelry in front of her, admiring herself in the mirror,” Beth said triumphantly.

“Caught red handed. So, I guess that was it for him. Cannot blame him,” Lili said.

“Actually no. He didn’t tell anybody. But later it turned out that she had bought a lot of things she could not afford so her creditors sued her. And she had tricked another lover, a banker, into giving her a loan which she couldn’t pay back. The lover might have let her go but the creditors were not so forgiving. Now the house is for sale and everything in it,” Beth said.

“She is still living there?” Lili asked.

“Yes. But she will have to move when the house is sold. The auction is set for next week,” Beth said.

“That’s quite a story. Do you think I could talk to her?” Lili asked, now really interested.

“You might. I know her a little. Let me ask her,” Beth said.

“That would be great. Thanks,” Lili said, thinking ahead to the research she would need to do.

“Watch out. She might be a little crazy. When they caught her, she said that ‘she’ made her do it,” Beth said.

“She?” Lili asked.

“She would not specify who ‘she’ was and afterwards denied ever saying it,” Beth said.

“Maybe not so crazy after all. I hope I get to talk to her,” Lili said.

“I will do my best,” Beth said.

Lili began researching the case as soon as she got home. Looking through newspaper articles and blogs, she quickly learned that the old lady was a 78-year old widow named Marjorie Weathersby, who had lived in the village almost all her life. She had grown up there, went to Baltimore to study education and went back again to work as an English teacher at the local public school. She married James Weathersby, an attorney, five years her senior, when she was 26 years old. They had known each other all their lives, but they did not begin dating until she was 24 years old. They had three children, two daughters and one son, followed by five grandchildren. Their children did not understand what had happened.

“It changed very quickly. She was so depressed when Dad died that I was almost glad to see the change. You know, it had been six months. She had hardly gone outside her door and hadn’t smiled at all,” her eldest daughter of 48 years said in an article to the local newspaper.

“In the beginning, it was just good to see her smile again and dress up. She seemed like her old self. But then she began acting up, going out in the evening, dating different men. I mean, at her age,” her 42-year old daughter said.

The article went on to describe how her behavior had been abnormal for her, she who had lived a quiet life with her husband and settled into old age with friends and hobbies. She had been especially fond of her garden and was known for her cakes. But she didn’t seem to care about those things any more. She dressed more provocative than before and began wearing the jewelry she had hidden away. She didn’t care much for her grandchildren anymore, even though they had been her pride and joy.

“And she also began acting strange, sometimes almost mean. She could lash out if she thought she was offended,” the newspaper reported her eldest daughter saying.

Lili read several other articles. There seemed to have been a lot of commotion in the little town and suddenly everyone could see it coming. As if…, Lili thought.

She began writing down an outline of her questions and some facts about the town and its people. She should interview the old lady, but also those around her as well as the attorneys, the court office and other people of relevance. There had been no substantial portrait of Mrs. Weathersby in the local newspaper, nor in the regional one, so she thought that would be a good idea. Then she had to look at an application for a job as a journalist at a local newspaper in Ohio. They wanted someone who could write and do multimedia, be investigative and news oriented, find the good stories, form a network. Someone young but experienced. The usual – superwoman or -man. Someone with local knowledge, which she didn’t have, but she did her research. She started to feel a little sad as she thought about how many applications she had sent and how few had even bothered to answer her.

She went back to reading about the old lady and her story. It restored her sense of being a journalist and she soon felt like herself again. It was late when she finally decided to go to bed. She was really looking forward to the trip and felt more excited than she had for some time.