The beeping oven timer faded into the background as you held the woman's gaze. Without breaking eye contact, you reached beneath the counter, your fingers brushing past stacks of invoices and order forms until they found the familiar texture of the employment applications. You pulled one out, the paper crisp and white against the flour-dusted wood, and slid it across the counter toward her.

The woman stared at the form as if it might bite her. Her breath hitched audibly, and for a second, you thought she might bolt. Then, with deliberate slowness, she reached out and placed her trembling hand on the paper. The rain outside intensified, drumming against the awning like impatient fingers.

'You'll... you'll really consider me?' she asked, voice cracking. The hope in those words was painful in its rawness. Behind her, the shop's vintage clock ticked loudly, marking the stretched silence before you nodded once. A single tear escaped her control, cutting a clean track through the weariness on her face.

You grabbed a pen from the mason jar by the register and placed it beside the application. 'We open at 5am,' you said simply. The unspoken understanding hung between you—this wasn't forgiveness, wasn't absolution. Just a chance to do something different with tomorrow.