He had ironed his only decent shirt at six that morning.
He had promised Sofia, before dropping her at a neighbor’s, that things might finally change.
Three blocks from the office tower on Avenida Faria Lima, traffic stopped completely.
Hazard lights blinked ahead in the rain.
A fender-bender. Flooded lanes. Horns. Nothing moving.
Miguel hit the steering wheel once with the heel of his palm.
Not hard.
Just enough to release the feeling building in his chest.
By the time he got to the building, it was nearly 10:00.
The lobby was all glass, polished stone, and people who looked dry, important, and impossible to impress. Miguel crossed the floor leaving damp footprints behind him.
At the front desk, the receptionist barely glanced up.
“I’m here for the 9:00 interview with Ferreira Logistics,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “Miguel Andrade.”
She typed something. Her expression never changed.
“They’ve already moved on to the next candidate, sir.”
Miguel swallowed. “Can I still speak to someone? Just for two minutes?”
“I’m sorry. The hiring manager’s calendar is full.”
“I came across the city in that storm.”
“I understand.”
But she clearly didn’t.
He exhaled through his nose. “Can I reschedule?”
“You can apply again in six months.”
Six months.
To someone behind a desk, it was a scheduling policy.
To Miguel, it sounded like a door slamming shut on groceries, rent, and every promise he’d made to his little girl.
Still, he forced a tight smile.
“Thank you.”
When he stepped back outside, the storm had weakened into a thin gray drizzle.
But he felt colder than before.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started down the sidewalk, shoulders heavy, head low, each step louder in his mind than on the pavement.
Then a black SUV rolled up beside him.
