When Lacey walks into the board shop that morning, the air feels a little heavier than usual. Mali greets her warmly, trying to mask his unease. He thanks her sincerely for holding things together while he was away, acknowledging that it couldn’t have been easy to balance customers, repairs, and all the small tasks that keep the place running. His gratitude is genuine; Mali has always believed in showing appreciation, even for the little things.

Lacey, however, brushes off the compliment almost immediately. She shifts her weight, her shoulders slumping slightly, and replies with a modest shrug. Deep down, she’s still carrying the guilt of the mistakes she’s made over the past weeks—missed details, late follow-ups, moments where she felt she let the shop down. “There’s no need to thank me,” she says softly, her eyes darting away. “I’m just glad I can be here to help, and that we can rely on each other when it matters.” Her words are humble, almost pleading, as if she needs to remind herself that she still belongs here.

But Mali can’t silence the echo of Abby’s warning. Abby has been unyielding in her insistence that the shop cannot recover unless someone more capable is brought in. The idea of letting Lacey go lingers like a shadow at the edge of Mali’s thoughts, intruding even in this moment of camaraderie. He forces a smile for Lacey’s sake, yet the conflict weighs heavier with every passing second, making his gratitude sound hollow to his own ears.

Sensing something unspoken between them, Lacey finally turns toward Abby. Her voice trembles slightly as she tells her how much the job means, how important it is for her to be part of this team, to contribute to something that feels bigger than herself. She speaks earnestly, not realizing that Abby had spent much of the previous evening pressing Mali to make the very decision that could end her time at the shop. The irony of her words hangs in the air, tightening the silence that follows, as Abby and Mali exchange a look that Lacey cannot yet decipher.

Abby clears her throat, carefully measuring her words. She has always prided herself on being direct, yet in this moment she hesitates. Lacey’s sincerity softens her, reminding her that this is not simply a matter of profit and loss but a real person’s livelihood. Still, the manager in her knows that if she avoids the hard truths, the entire shop could suffer. “It’s good that you care about this job, Lacey,” Abby finally says, her tone firm but not unkind. “But caring isn’t always enough. Running a place like this means consistency, reliability, and the ability to shoulder responsibility without constant oversight.”

Mali watches the exchange with a tightening chest. He can see the hope flicker in Lacey’s eyes as she waits for Abby’s response, unaware of the storm brewing behind closed conversations. For Mali, the decision feels more impossible than ever. On one side stands Abby’s logic, cold but undeniably practical. On the other stands Lacey’s earnest determination, fragile yet deeply human. He realizes that whatever choice he makes, there will be consequences—not just for the shop’s survival, but for the trust and relationships that bind them together.