You let out a slow breath, the morning chill sharp against your skin. 'Lena,' you began, rubbing your flour-dusted hands against your apron, 'I want to be honest with you.' Your voice was steady, but the weight of your next words pressed against your chest. 'The bakery... it's not doing well. The rent's gone up, and we're barely scraping by as it is.' You gestured vaguely toward the entrance, where the peeling paint on the doorframe was more noticeable in the daylight. 'I'm not sure I can afford to take on another employee right now.'

Lena's face fell, her shoulders slumping like a deflated balloon. She looked down at her resume, the edges trembling slightly in her grip. 'I understand,' she murmured, though the defeat in her voice was palpable. 'I just thought...' She trailed off, shaking her head. A silence stretched between you, broken only by the distant hum of a delivery truck rumbling down the street.

You swallowed hard, your grandmother's voice echoing in your mind—her unwavering belief in second chances, in the power of a warm meal and a kind word. 'I'm sorry,' you said softly, the apology feeling inadequate even as it left your lips. The wind picked up again, carrying the scent of rain and freshly baked bread from the ovens inside. Lena nodded, her jaw tight, and you could see her steeling herself for another rejection in a long line of them. The awning above you creaked mournfully, as if mirroring the heaviness in the air.