Liza 

It's a dreary Monday morning, the break of dawn still cloaked in darkness, and Liza awakens yet again from a restless night. The weight of her financial burdens presses heavily on her mind as she contemplates how she will manage to cover her mounting pile of bills. 

With weariness etched on her face, she shuffles towards the kitchen, yearning for a small semblance of comfort. The scraping of the spoon against the empty coffee jar echoes her empty bank account. The last remnants of instant coffee and sugar find their way into her chipped mug, a bitter reminder of the sacrifices she must make. Pouring a splash of milk, she sighs, realizing that even groceries have become just another item on her ever-growing list of necessities. 

Responsibility beckons, as her two-year-old son stirs in his bed. She must rouse him from slumber, dressing him in clothes that have been worn and patched countless times. A meagre breakfast of plain toast, a banana, and some juice becomes a feast fit for a prince in her eyes. With a heavy heart, she hands her precious boy over to Del, her neighbour and guardian angel. Gratitude floods her for the elderly neighbour's unwavering help, for without her, Liza could never fulfill her obligations and delve into the demanding role she occupies at Emerson Group. 

In a world of high-powered executives and successful professionals, Liza is but a low-ranking administration assistant, a mere cog in the grand machinery of Emerson Group. The firm, renowned for its prowess in consulting and project management, caters to the entire East Coast. Liza's journey to this prestigious position was far from conventional. With no formal education to her name, luck had bestowed this opportunity upon her just eight months prior. Oh, how she had wished someone had cared enough to celebrate her 21st birthday last week, but her isolation was a harsh reality she had come to accept. 

Time slips away from her, mocking her with its relentless persistence. Panic sets in as she glances at the clock, realizing she is dreadfully behind schedule. It's already past 7am, and a gruelling 45-minute commute awaits her. She dashes towards her worn-out car, praying that it will hold itself together for just one more day. Brightly coloured envelopes, remnants of yesterday's mail session, beckon to her on the passenger seat. Yet another rental increase notice is nestled amidst other mundane correspondence, demanding immediate payment with an increased security bond. It's as if the world conspires against her, an unyielding force determined to push her further into financial despair.