The Interview

The Interview Maria checked her phone for the third time in two minutes. Still no response from her sister. The interview was in twenty minutes, and she had no one to watch Carlos. "Mama?" Her seven-year-old son looked up from his coloring book, sensing her anxiety. "Are you okay?" "Yes, mi amor," Maria lied, smoothing her carefully pressed blouse. It was her only professional-looking outfit—purchased secondhand specifically for job interviews. "Mama's fine." But she wasn't fine. Her regular childcare had fallen through when her neighbor Mrs. Chen came down with the flu. Her sister, who'd promised to come, wasn't answering. And this interview—for an administrative assistant position at a law firm—was the best opportunity Maria had seen in six months of searching. Six months since she'd been laid off from the hotel cleaning staff. Six months of watching her savings evaporate. Six months of choosing between electricity and groceries, of telling Carlos they were having "breakfast for dinner" again, of lying awake calculating how many more weeks until they lost their apartment. She couldn't miss this interview. But she also couldn't leave Carlos alone. "We're going to go on an adventure," Maria announced with forced cheerfulness, gathering Carlos's things. "You're going to come to Mama's meeting." "Really?" Carlos brightened. "Where?" "An office building. Very fancy. And you need to be very, very good, okay? Sit quietly and color. Can you do that for Mama?" Carlos nodded solemnly. "I can be good. I promise." They arrived with eight minutes to spare. Maria's heart sank as she entered the sleek glass building—so different from the worn apartment complexes and shops in her neighborhood. Everyone looked polished, confident, like they belonged. She felt painfully out of place in her secondhand blouse and Carlos in his slightly-too-small jacket. "Maria Reyes?" The receptionist looked surprised. "You're early. And... is this your son?" "Yes, I'm so sorry. Childcare emergency. If there's a place he can sit quietly while I interview—" "I'll have to ask Ms. Peterson." The receptionist's tone suggested this was highly irregular. Maria's stomach twisted as she watched the young woman disappear into an office. This was it. They'd send her away. Another wasted opportunity. But the receptionist returned with a middle-aged woman in an expensive suit. Ms. Peterson, presumably. "Ms. Reyes?" The woman extended her hand. "I'm Catherine Peterson, the office manager. I understand you have your son with you?" "I'm so sorry," Maria began. "My childcare fell through at the last minute. If there's any way we could reschedule—" "No need to apologize," Ms. Peterson surprised her by saying. "I've been there. Let's get you settled, young man." She knelt to Carlos's level. "Do you like snacks?" Carlos glanced at Maria, who nodded. "Yes, ma'am." "Excellent. Sarah, would you mind taking Carlos to the break room? I believe there are juice boxes and those cookies left from yesterday's meeting. He can color while we talk to his mother." Maria wanted to cry with relief and gratitude. "Thank you so much." "Shall we?" Ms. Peterson gestured toward her office. The interview began normally enough—questions about Maria's work history, her skills with office software, her ability to handle multiple tasks. Maria answered carefully, professionally, trying to sound confident despite her nerves. Then Ms. Peterson asked, "I see a gap in your employment. Six months. Can you tell me about that?" Maria hesitated. In past interviews, admitting she'd been laid off had seemed to hurt her chances. But something about Ms. Peterson's direct, non-judgmental gaze made her tell the truth. "I was laid off when the hotel reduced staff," Maria said. "I've been looking for work since then, but it's... competitive. And many jobs require more computer skills than I have. I've been taking free classes at the library to improve, but it's difficult to learn without reliable internet access at home." "I see. And Carlos's father?" Another question that usually made Maria defensive. "Not in the picture. It's been just the two of us for five years now." "That must be challenging," Ms. Peterson said, and her tone wasn't pitying—just understanding. "It is," Maria admitted. "But Carlos is a good kid. Smart. He deserves better than... than what I can give him right now. That's why this job is so important to me. Not just for the salary, but for the chance to give him stability. To show him that hard work matters. That we can climb out of this." Ms. Peterson was quiet for a moment. "Can I be honest with you, Ms. Reyes?" Maria's heart sank. Here it came—the gentle rejection. "Your resume is thin compared to other candidates. You lack formal education beyond high school. Your computer skills need development. On paper, you're not the strongest applicant." Maria nodded, fighting back tears. She'd heard versions of this before. "However," Ms. Peterson continued, "I've interviewed fifteen people for this position. Do you know how many showed up on time? Eight. How many were professionally dressed? Ten. How many brought a child with them because their childcare fell through and still chose to show up rather than cancel? One. Just you." She leaned forward. "Ms. Reyes, I can teach someone to use our database software. I can train someone on office procedures. What I can't teach is reliability, determination, and problem-solving under pressure. You demonstrated all three before the interview even began." Maria stared, not quite believing what she was hearing. "I'm a single mother too," Ms. Peterson said quietly. "I've taken my daughter to interviews. I've chosen between bills. I've made 'breakfast for dinner' and called it fun. I know what it takes to keep going when everything feels impossible. Those skills—the ones you've developed through sheer survival—are valuable. They make you a better employee than someone who's never had to fight for anything." "Are you... are you offering me the job?" Maria asked, afraid to hope. "I'm offering you a probationary period. Three months. During that time, we'll provide training on the systems you need to learn. The salary is $42,000 annually, health insurance included. There's some flexibility for parenting emergencies—I know they happen. In return, I need reliability, honesty, and your best effort." "Yes," Maria said immediately. "Yes, absolutely. Thank you. Thank you so much." Ms. Peterson smiled. "Don't thank me yet. This job isn't easy. But I think you can handle it." As they walked back to the reception area, Ms. Peterson added, "One more thing. We have a contract with a childcare center two blocks from here. Employee discount. It's not free, but it's affordable and reliable. I'll have Sarah send you the information." Maria found Carlos in the break room, happily coloring while the receptionist worked nearby. He'd drawn a picture of the two of them holding hands in front of a big building. "Did you get the job, Mama?" he asked. "I did, mi amor. I did." Carlos cheered, throwing his arms around her waist. "I knew you would! You're the smartest mama in the whole world." Maria held him tight, letting herself feel—for the first time in six months—a glimmer of hope. Outside, as they walked to the bus stop, Carlos chattered excitedly about the "nice cookie lady" and the "really cool office." Maria listened, smiling, but her mind was calculating: first paycheck in three weeks, which meant they could pay rent and maybe—finally—buy Carlos shoes that fit properly. She thought about Ms. Peterson's words: "The skills you've developed through sheer survival are valuable." For six months, Maria had felt like a failure—unemployed, struggling, unable to provide for her son the way she wanted. She'd internalized the message that her worth was determined by her resume, her education, her economic status. But Ms. Peterson saw something different. She saw someone who showed up. Who solved problems. Who persevered despite obstacles. She saw value in the very struggles that Maria thought made her worthless. "Mama?" Carlos tugged her hand. "Why are you crying?" "Happy tears, baby," Maria said, wiping her eyes. "These are happy tears." That night, Maria updated her old phone with a note in her calendar: "First day of work." Then she added another line—one she'd write in the journal she kept for Carlos, for when he was older and could understand: "Today I learned that worthiness isn't about perfection or privilege. It's about showing up, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. Never forget that, mi amor. You come from someone who kept showing up. That's our inheritance, better than money or education. That's what will carry you through anything." Maria saved the note, then checked their bank account one more time. They had $47 left. Three weeks to make it last. It would be tight, but they'd manage. They always did. Because Maria Reyes knew how to survive. And thanks to Catherine Peterson—someone who remembered what survival looked like and valued it—soon she'd get the chance to do more than survive. She'd get the chance to thrive.