The restaurant, once buzzing with energy and excitement, now felt like a tomb. The last few weeks had been brutal—no customers, no buzz, nothing but the cold, hard reality of our failure staring us in the face. The social media scandal and the endless memes had done their damage, and we couldn't recover. The decision I had been dreading for days had finally arrived: we had to let some of the staff go.
I stood in the middle of the restaurant, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. Half the staff was gathered in front of me, their faces a mix of confusion and concern. They knew something was wrong—how could they not? They'd been here every day, watching the restaurant grow emptier and quieter. They could feel the failure in the air, just like I could.
Sasha stood beside me, her usual fire gone, replaced with a somber expression. She had been the one who crunched the numbers, the one who finally told me, "Tristan, we can't keep them all. We're bleeding cash. It's either this or we shut the doors for good." It wasn't her fault, but I could see the guilt written all over her face.
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. The faces staring back at me were more than just employees—they were people who had believed in this dream just as much as I had. And now I was about to tear it apart.
"I... I don't even know where to start," I began, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "This isn't easy for me to say. It's the hardest fucking thing I've had to do since we opened this place. But... we're in trouble. The restaurant... it's not doing well. You all know that."
A few of the staff members exchanged worried glances, but no one said anything. They were waiting for the hammer to drop.
"We've tried everything to get people back in here," I continued, my throat tightening with emotion. "Discounts, promotions, social media... but nothing's worked. We've lost our momentum, and the truth is... we're running out of money."
The room was silent. I could feel Sasha tense beside me, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"I hate to say this, but... we can't afford to keep everyone on. We have to make cuts. Half of you... will be let go today."
I couldn't bring myself to look anyone in the eye as I said it. The words felt like they were physically choking me. I heard a couple of gasps, the sound of people shifting uncomfortably, and then... silence. No one knew what to say, and neither did I.
One of the chefs, Maria, a woman in her 30s who had been with us since the opening, finally broke the silence. "Wait... so, that's it? We're just out? After everything?"
Her voice was thick with disbelief, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. Maria had poured her heart into this place, just like the rest of them. She wasn't just an employee—she was part of the family we'd built.
I swallowed hard. "Maria, I... I wish there was another way. But the numbers... they don't lie. If we don't make cuts, the whole restaurant goes under. This... this is the only way we have a chance to survive."
Her face tightened with frustration, and I could see the anger brewing behind her eyes. "A chance to survive? And what about us, huh? What are we supposed to do?"
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "I know this isn't fair. I know it's not what any of us wanted. But I'm doing everything I can to keep this place alive. I wish I could keep all of you. I really do. But right now, it's just... impossible."
Another voice piped up, this time one of the waiters, Marcus. He had a young family and had been relying on this job to get by. "So what now? We just... go home? That's it?"
I felt the weight of every word they were saying, every accusation, every ounce of disappointment. This wasn't what I'd signed up for. I wanted to build something beautiful, something lasting, and now... it felt like I was tearing it all down.
"I'm so sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do everything I can to help you find new jobs. I'll write recommendations, whatever you need. This isn't your fault—it's mine. And I... I'm so fucking sorry."
Maria shook her head, her voice trembling with anger. "Sorry doesn't pay the bills, Tristan."
I winced, feeling her words cut deep. "I know," I said, my throat tightening again. "I know it doesn't."
Sasha stepped in then, her voice calm but strained. "We didn't want it to come to this, guys. We've been fighting to keep this place alive, but... it's just not enough right now. We hope that by making these cuts, we can turn things around and maybe... maybe bring you back when things get better."
It was a weak promise, and we all knew it. There was no guarantee we'd ever recover, no guarantee there would be jobs to come back to. But it was the only hope we had to offer.
Maria gave a bitter laugh, wiping a tear from her eye. "Yeah, well... I guess we'll see, huh?"
Marcus sighed, shaking his head. "This fucking sucks."
I couldn't argue with him. It did suck. It was the worst thing I'd ever had to do, and I hated every second of it.
"Look," I said, trying one last time to salvage what little dignity I had left. "We're giving you all two weeks of severance. I know it's not much, but it's something to help while you look for something else. And like I said, I'll personally reach out to anyone I know who's hiring. I'll make sure you all land on your feet."
Maria didn't look convinced, but she nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Alright, Tristan. Whatever."
The rest of the staff stood there in awkward silence for a moment before slowly dispersing, one by one, heading toward the door. As they left, I felt a part of myself leave with them. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. This wasn't the dream.
When the last of them was gone, I sank into a chair, my head in my hands. Sasha sat down beside me, the silence between us heavy.
"I hate this," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I hate every fucking second of this."
Sasha put a hand on my shoulder, her voice quiet. "I know, Tristan. I know."
We sat there in the empty restaurant, the echoes of what used to be filling the space around us. And for the first time since we'd opened, I wondered if this was the beginning of the end.
***
After the long, brutal day of letting half the staff go, I found myself heading over to Vanessa's place. I was exhausted, mentally drained, and my mind was spinning with the weight of everything that had happened. I knew I had to tell her about it—the failure, the cuts, the fact that the restaurant was teetering on the edge of collapse. But part of me dreaded the conversation.
Vanessa had been my biggest supporter, always confident in my ability to succeed, always there to offer a safety net when things got tough. But this was different. This wasn't just a rough patch. This was the beginning of the end, and I wasn't sure how she'd take it.
I walked into her penthouse, the familiar smell of her expensive perfume hitting me as soon as I stepped through the door. She was lounging on the couch, her long, wavy black hair draped over her shoulders, a glass of red wine in her hand. She looked up as I entered, flashing me that sweet, understanding smile that always made me feel like everything would be okay. But tonight, it didn't have the same effect.
"Hey, darling," she said, her Italian accent warm and smooth. "You look like you've been through hell."
I forced a small smile, shrugging as I walked over to her. "Yeah, something like that."
She set her wine glass down and patted the spot on the couch next to her. "Come sit. Tell me what's going on."
I sat down beside her, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a ton of bricks. For a moment, I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I just sat there, staring at the floor, feeling like a failure.
Vanessa placed a hand on my leg, her touch soft but firm. "Talk to me, Tristan. What happened?"
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "The restaurant... it's not doing well, Vanessa. It's not just a bad week. It's a disaster. The whole thing is falling apart."
She frowned, her brows knitting together with concern. "What do you mean?"
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "I mean we've barely had any customers for weeks. The food poisoning scandal, the fucking Fortnite dancer... it all backfired. No one's coming through the doors anymore, and we're bleeding money. Today... today I had to lay off half the staff."
Vanessa's expression softened, and she shifted closer to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "Oh, Tristan... I'm so sorry."
I leaned into her touch, the weight of it all pressing down on me even harder now that I was saying it out loud. "I feel like I've failed. I thought I could make this work. I thought I had it all figured out, but... I was wrong. We're on the brink of closing, and I don't know how to fix it."
She pulled me closer, her hand rubbing slow, comforting circles on my back. "Tristan, everyone has setbacks when they start out. You're not a failure. You took a risk, and sometimes risks don't pay off the way we expect them to. It doesn't mean you're not good at what you do."
I sighed, burying my face in my hands. "It feels like I've fked everything up."
She shook her head, her voice gentle but firm. "You didn't fk anything up. You're just learning, Tristan. This is part of being an entrepreneur. The first time is always the hardest."
Her words were comforting, but they didn't erase the knot of guilt twisting in my stomach. I knew Vanessa believed in me, but I didn't want to keep leaning on her every time I failed. This was my dream, my responsibility, and I was supposed to make it work without constantly needing her help.
Vanessa tilted my chin up, forcing me to look into her eyes. "You've been working so hard. You've put everything into this restaurant. And I know how much it means to you. But if you need more help... I'm here. If you need more money to keep the business going, just say the word. I can transfer it tomorrow."
The offer hung in the air between us, heavy and tempting. She was willing to bail me out again, willing to pour more of her money into my sinking ship. Part of me wanted to say yes, to take the lifeline she was offering and buy us more time. But another part of me—the part that was sick of failing—felt ashamed. How many times could I keep going to her for money? How many times could I let her bail me out before I had to face the fact that maybe I wasn't cut out for this?
I shook my head slowly, the guilt weighing on me. "No, Vanessa. I can't keep asking you for money."
She frowned, her hand still resting on my chin. "Why not? This is an investment, Tristan. I believe in you, in your vision. If more money is what it takes to keep the restaurant alive, then it's worth it."
I pulled away from her touch, leaning back against the couch. "I know you believe in me, and I appreciate everything you've done. But... I feel like I'm just digging myself deeper into a hole. If I keep taking your money, and this still doesn't work... I don't know how I'll live with that."
Vanessa sighed, her eyes softening. "You're putting too much pressure on yourself. You don't have to do this alone, you know. I'm here because I want to be. I'm offering to help because I believe in you. This isn't just about the restaurant, it's about us."
I looked at her, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. "I get that, Vanessa. But I don't want to keep relying on you every time something goes wrong. I need to figure this out on my own. I need to know that I can stand on my own two feet."
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze searching mine. "Tristan... I don't think you realize how proud I am of you. You've taken on something most people would never even dream of. And whether this restaurant succeeds or fails, it doesn't change how I feel about you."
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I felt my throat tighten. I wasn't used to being this vulnerable, especially not in front of her. Vanessa had always been the strong, confident one, the one who had it all figured out. And I... well, I was still trying to find my way.
"I just don't want to let you down," I admitted quietly.
Vanessa smiled softly, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "You could never let me down, Tristan. But I understand. If you don't want to take more money, that's your decision. I respect that. Just know that if you ever need it, the offer's still there."
I nodded, the weight in my chest easing just a little. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."
She pulled me close again, her arms wrapping around me in a warm embrace. "You're gonna figure this out. And even if things don't go the way you planned, it's not the end of the world. You've got me, and I've got you. We'll get through this."
"Maybe..." I sighed, leaning closer into her.
Q: What would you do next if you were Tristan?