When Roses Rot

"Hazel? I know that!"

Mildred's eyes widened in disbelief, but her shock quickly melted into irritation.

"You know what? I'll just keep to myself," she huffed, reaching for more beans. "I can't deal with some sassy attitude today."

"Sassy? Yeah, whatever… I feel like firing you!" Hazel screamed in anger, her voice cracking.

Only one customer sat at a corner table, watching the scene unfold in stunned silence.

"Then go ahead and do it," Mildred said coldly, casting a contemptuous glance around the café. "You own this fucking place anyway."

Hazel stiffened.

"Your attitude sucks, Hazel," Mildred continued, shaking her head. "I hate to break it to you, but it does—especially this morning." Her eyebrows furrowed even more.

Selena, the second assistant, rolled her eyes slightly and turned away. This was between them. Best to stay out of it.

Hazel didn't want to say it. Not really. But the frustration, the pressure, the weight of the day—it all broke through her restraint and in a moment, she flared like wild fire.

"You know what? Then perhaps you're fired!" she shouted, eyes wide with disbelief at her own words.

Mildred stared at her. For a heartbeat, her expression froze in stunned silence and her face darkened with a hint of nonchalance to the news, which was supposedly a bombshell.

"Fine," she said quietly. "At least I get to stay away from you, bummer."

She gave a dry, ironic chuckle, grabbed her bag, clocked out, and walked out the door without another word.

Hazel stood there, heart pounding, stunned that she hadn't stopped her from leaving. She just watched, a mixture of aggression and disappointment at herself steaming in her.

Selena continued working, guilt stinging her chest for not defending Mildred—but she shoved it down. She couldn't afford to lose her job too.

By midday, customers were trooping in and the café was alive with activity. But Hazel's energy had drained completely. She handed over the counter to Selena and left, weak and with a sick feeling in her stomach

The yellow-striped taxi dropped her off at a crossroad—just a short walk from home. She paid the fare and continued on foot, drifting past familiar spots: rustic cafés, the antique store run by old Mrs. Potter, the blonde neighbor's house with the framed photo of her late husband on the door, weathered lamp posts, scattered billboards, and scantily furred rats scrambling over leftovers in the bin at a corner.

The countryside street was lively as usual, but Hazel felt like she was walking in slow motion.

A grinning high school boy passed her.

She frowned, as if the grin made her hate the world.

What's so great about today?

Maybe Mildred was right. Maybe she was the problem. And this dumb little street—every corner of it—reminded her just how miserable her life felt right now. Especially with the terrible news she had stubbornly refused to believe. She thought about how she had responded to Mildred and felt a pang of guilt in her chest.

The sharp stench of sour milk hit her nose as she passed another trash bin. A thin, scruffy Maine Coon cat scurried away at the sight of her.

Home was in view. Through the window, she saw people gathered—some for information, some for confirmation, others offering condolences.

She didn't need a soothsayer to tell her.

She reached into her fawn-colored handbag and pulled out her phone. With trembling fingers, she dialed Baileé.

Baileé had been her best friend for nearly a decade, ever since high school. Hazel had met her on a long wooden bench one sweltering afternoon. Baileé had been crying, her story pouring out in whispers, and Hazel felt her heart break with every sob. Her story was both chilling and petrifying, particularly what she had been through in life. Since she was an orphan, she lived with her aunt and her aunt's boyfriend, Luke—who had been sexually assaulting her for months.

Hazel had told her parents. Her dad had stepped in, reported it to the police, and the man was sentenced to fifteen years. From that point on, Baileé had been like a sister, and their bond had grown stronger when she lived with them for a few months after her furious aunt threw her out.

Baileé had once even given up her ballet team position to defend Hazel from bullies. Their friendship had only deepened over the years.

Now, Baileé was married to billionaire actor Richard Chantler—a man they'd met at a classmate's dinner party. Meanwhile, Hazel was still struggling. Despite being older and more academically inclined, life just never seemed to align for her. A small part of her, she admitted, envied Baileé's seemingly perfect life.

She pressed the phone to her ear as she entered the short gate.

"Hello, Baileé?" she began, but then the phone slipped from her trembling hand. It hit the ground and shattered.

She stared at the broken screen, chest heaving.

What kind of horrible day is this?

She bit her lip, fists tightening at her sides.

"That's it. It can't get any worse," she whispered through clenched teeth, eyes burning.

She hated this universe—hated how it seemed to single her out for chaos. Did other girls go through this much? This endless spiral of crap and emotional overload?

She crouched, picked up the phone, and pressed the power button.

Nothing.

Dead.

She let out a bitter laugh. It wasn't funny, but it was either laugh or cry.

And she was tired of crying. She tried it again still nothing. Frustrated and horrified, she slammed her palm against her forehead and sighed heavily.