Page 31 of Ruthless Serenade

"I really hope so, Mindy. We value your skills and we want to keep you. But if this keeps happening, eventually, there will have to be consequences."

Shit.

I swallow hard. Sure, Christine used to be a single mom herself, and I know she understands my challenges. But she alsohas a company to run. And what boss wants an employee who keeps skipping workdays?

I hang up the phone and go back to Sharon, who’s now moved from the couch to curl up on her bed. She’s breathing softly, holding on to her favorite bunny, with her blanket pulled up to her chin.

"Hey, baby," I say gently, sitting down beside her. "How about we try to eat a little something? It will help you feel better."

Sharon shakes her head weakly, her voice muted. "I don’t want anything. My tummy hurts."

I stroke her hair gently, my heart aching for her. "I know, honey. What about some soup, huh? Just a little bit?"

She burrows deeper into the cushions, her face half-hidden. "I don’t want soup. I just want to sleep."

"Alright, baby." I sigh, giving up on my efforts. I tuck in the blanket around her, making sure she’s cozy and warm. "You just rest now, honey bunny."

As Sharon closes her eyes, I stroke her hair, humming softly. Her breathing evens out as she drifts off to sleep, and I carefully get up, tucking in the blanket around her once more. I tiptoe out of the room, casting one last glance at my sleeping daughter before gently closing the door behind me.

With a deep sigh, I lean against the wall and allow myself a moment to close my eyes, gathering the strength to face the day. The silence of the apartment feels both comforting and oppressive.

Pushing away from the wall, I make my way to the kitchen. The coffee maker gurgles to life, filling the air with the rich aroma of brewing coffee. As I wait for my liquid lifeline, I boot up my laptop on the kitchen table. The hum of the computer starting up mingles with the soft bubbling of the coffee pot, creating a soundtrack for the impending workday.

Coffee in hand, I settle into my makeshift home office. The to-do list looming on my screen is daunting and I can’t afford to waste another minute. With one ear tuned to any sounds from Sharon’s room, I take a deep breath and dive into my work.

But despite my best efforts, I just can’t seem to get my mind to concentrate. I keep getting distracted and my thoughts are racing. How long can I keep doing this? Sharon is only six. The older she gets, the higher my expenses will be. My daughter is my everything; the center of my universe. Yet, being a single parent living and working in the city often feels like I’m carrying the world on my shoulders. How do other single moms do it? Am I missing something?

Betty’s voice echoes in my head, "Girl, you need to find yourself a man."Maybe she’s right. But what am I supposed to do when I just can’t seem to find anyone decent out there? Not to mention that dating as a single mother is a logistical nightmare. It’s all on me. No doting in-laws or generous relatives to babysit Sharon while I go out. It’s just me and Tania. That is if she’s free to look after Sharon. By the time I arrange everything before going out, I’m already fed up and exhausted.

And then, what if I go on a date things go terribly well? Yeah, that’d be nothing short of a miracle. But let’s say it happens. Let’s say I end up bringing a guy back to our tiny condo. Do I lock Sharon in her room to make sure she doesn’t barge in on her mom and her new friend while they’re going forit? What would I tell her if that happened? "Oh, hey, baby! This is Jack/Peter/Harry, Mommy’s new friend… who may or may not be here next weekend. Don’t mind us, nothing to see here!"

No, thank you.

Sipping the last drops of my coffee, I sit back in my desk chair and stare at my laptop. A daunting stack of Excel spreadsheets looms on the screen, a stark reminder of the challenges we’ve faced this year with the company.

My fingers fly across the keyboard as I enter data into the spreadsheets, meticulously checking each figure for accuracy. As the numbers stare back at me, one thing becomes clear: this year has been far from successful. Our print advertising revenue has plummeted by 30%, digital subscriptions are growing at half the rate we projected, and our new app launch was a complete disaster, with user retention dropping off a cliff after the first month.

Not good.

I scratch my head. I don’t even want to imagine what the Solomons would do when they see these numbers. I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to shut down entire departments in an attempt to cut costs. If I were them, I would probably do that. Sales are down, operating expenses have ballooned due to our failed expansion into the Asian market, and profits have taken a major hit; we’re looking at almost a 40% decrease.

Shit, shit.

And more shit.

I can’t leave this report the way it is. I need to find a way to convince the Solomons, the owners, and the rest ofthe boardroom that our current struggles are just a temporary setback.

With some creative manipulation of charts and graphs, I lunge into my financial alchemy. I group our failing print division with our moderately successful digital arm, making the overall decline look less severe. I adjust the y-axis on our revenue charts to make the downturn appear less dramatic. For our app statistics, I focus on the initial download numbers rather than the abysmal retention rate. I highlight our cost-cutting measures, conveniently leaving out the fact that they haven’t made a huge dent in our bloated expenses.

It’s a delicate balancing act that requires a sharp eye and strategic thinking. I’m not lying, per se; just presenting the truth in the most favorable light possible. Still, guilt gnaws at me as I work. But it’s better than worrying about life. Focusing on a task is a welcome distraction from the treacherous thoughts that usually plague my mind.

Gradually, as I continue working, the tension in my body eases, and my mind quiets down. I lose myself in the world of pivot tables and conditional formatting, crafting a narrative of a company facing challenges but poised for a comeback.

That looks a lot better.

I sit back and survey my handiwork of what I like to call "financial plastic surgery". Sure, the downward trends are still visible, but they no longer look like a dramatic nosedive. I’ve managed to paint a picture of a company weathering a storm rather than one on the brink of collapse. With a sense of accomplishment, I transfer the file onto a USB drive.

I take a deep breath before unplugging it from my computer. I feel my muscles relax and I close my eyes for amoment, visualizing how I’ll confidently present these improved charts and flash cool smiles at the people in the boardroom. I’ll talk about "market challenges" and "repositioning for future growth," hoping they won’t see through my carefully constructed illusion. While it’s not ideal, it might just buy us enough time to turn things around.

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