They don't think I can hear them as they whisper their snide and hateful comments.

"Look at that poor waitress."

They don't think I see their looks of pity they throw her way as I pass their tables.

"Her boyfriend must have left her."

They don't know her, no one here does. They don't know the truth.

They just see a young blond pregnant waitress, dead on her feet and struggling to pay the bills.

They don't know it would just take a phone call to get out of this.

But I won't, he deserves better than a poor waitress.