Days blurred into one another as Kyle trudged through the city. Each morning, he rose from the cold, damp room that had become his home, clutching a meager crust of bread. His search for work had yielded nothing. Factory doors slammed in his face, and rejection weighed heavily on his shoulders.

  The market square bustled with noise, but to Kyle, it was a blur of faces and voices. The stalls, filled with goods, offered him nothing. His pockets were empty, his stomach hollow. He moved past vendors, keeping his head down, ashamed of what he had become.

  As he passed a tailor’s shop, his gaze was drawn to the window. Inside, the tailor worked swiftly, his hands moving with the skill of someone who had mastered his craft. The clothes on display were neat, fine, a stark contrast to the rags Kyle wore. He remembered a time when his clothes had been well-made, when his wife, Lilian, had sewn them with love. His daughter, Emma, had helped him button them with laughter.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Now, his clothes were little more than tattered remnants. His once-strong hands, worn from years of farmwork, trembled from hunger and exhaustion. He stared at the tailor, a sharp ache in his chest. How long had it been since he had felt dignity?

  The tailor glanced up, meeting Kyle’s gaze for a moment before looking away. Kyle felt the sting of humiliation. There was no place for him here, no work for men like him. For a brief moment, the weight of it all threatened to crush him, and he almost crumbled where he stood.

  But instead, he turned and walked away, his steps quick and stiff. He knew the day would end like all the others—empty. Yet there was no other choice but to keep moving forward.