In the middle of our divorce hearing, my husband mocked my 20 years working at his restaurant and said, “You were just a pack mule.” I didn’t scream, I just stood up, opened my jacket, and showed him the scars he thought were buried forever.1

On opening night, every table was full. Former employees came back, this time with contracts, benefits, and wages printed clearly in black ink. The prep cook Victor once abandoned stood at the pass beside me, grinning.

Near closing, Grace raised a glass. “To the pack mule.”

The room went quiet.

I looked down at my scars, silver beneath the soft light.