The door to Renault opened, and Sierra's face beamed with the brightest smile as she swiped her pass and headed to the lift. It was almost that time of the year where the company reviewed and handed out promotions as rewards. It was not the moment to flinch, Sierra the queen of sales of the concession. Of course, her performances lowered with Leone's arrival, but now she felt she had adjusted to her new lifestyle and rectified the poor performances.

"Sierra, can you step into my office, please."

It was rare for her boss to call her into the office; Sierra smiled, "yes, Mr. Dubois." She followed the man to the office.

"Please take a seat, Sierra. I won't be long."

Sierra pulled a chair and sat.

"How are you feeling, Sierra?"

"I am fine."

"Really?" The man asked with caution while looking at something in her breast pocket, making the woman stare at herself.

"Oh, oops, it's Leone's, I-forgot," Sierra pulled out a blue bib from her pocket.

"Sierra, you know it's that time of the year. I have been surveying your performances, and lately, you seem somewhat distracted."

Sierra waved her hands in front of her, "no, Sir, really, I just had a moment. I am good now."

Sierra's heart beat fast and furious as she waited to hear her boss.

"I am just wondering if you need a little time. Perhaps if you go in another less busy-."

"NO," Sierra yelled. 

She knew where the conversation headed, and Sierra did not like it. Le placard, the French expression which means being benched and put in the cupboard.

"Sir, with all my respect, I am fine. Thank you for worrying, but I don't need an arrangement."

"I understand the situation you are in now might be permanent."

Sierra wondered who spoke; perhaps the Gauthiers were behind this. Would they be capable of calling her workplace? Of course, they could. They gravitated in the same spheres as her bosses.

"Sierra, Sierra, are you listening?"

Sierra realized then what she had become. A lioness, ready to defend her cub and livelihood no matter the odds, but sometimes to win, one had to step down.

"Yes, I am listening, excuse-me, I must have sounded irrational.

The man nodded in approval.

"I just don't want to be treated as though I am suddenly incapable of doing my job. I agree that the responsibility I have recently acquired does demand a lot of focus, but I am okay now," Sierra smiled and hoped her speech convinced.

Mr. Dubois tapped the pen on the paper in front of him for a few seconds before saying, "Sierra, it's okay to show weakness; we're only human. The man then dismissed Sierra, who knew she escaped from being exiled to the placard.

The day went on usually until lunch.

"Vincent, what are you doing here?"

The man waved the takeaway bags he had in front of Sierra. "I thought we could have lunch in the park," Sierra looked about, not wanting any colleagues to overhear, "Vincent, I can't eat out. I got called out this morning. I have lay low and show off my skills right now.

Vincent took hold of Sierra's hands, "Sierra, we haven't seen each other for a week."

"We saw each other yesterday. "

Vincent gave Sierra a deadpan stare, "yeah, you drolled on my shoulder while you slept in front of The Walking Dead. You did not even see me leave."

Sierra sighed, "I am sorry, babe. I swear I will make it up to you."

The roles seemed inverted. Vincent became the demanding damsel, while Sierra made up excuses like the men she saw in romantic comedies.

"You know what, Sierra, I feel like a third wheel."

A few of Sierra's colleagues walked past. Sierra awkwardly smiled and stepped aside. It was too much for Vincent," here's your lunch, Sierra; eat-in alone if that's what you want."

Vincent pushed a strand of Sierra's hair behind her ear and kissed her on the forehead.

"Vincent-."

He walked away without looking back. It was a first, and the deadweight of culpability hurt. There were too many elements and all swirled out of control. Work, Vincent, and Leone Sierra attempted to keep the balance but the foundations of her scale were fragile.

As she waited for the bus after work, Sierra admitted her defeat; she was exhausted. She needed assistance, even though Jacob helped.

And Vincent, he held, but for how long?

Sierra needed to get her act together. She picked up Leone and went to a place where mom's gathered.

Bussy's hair salon.

"Hey, Cia-raa," Bussy said before carrying on tracing the line of a Kolese braid [corn/canerows in Yoruba language], "Can you hand me the hair? It's too thick, smaller strands, there you go, keep them coming."

"Bussy, please respect my name. It's Sierra."

The woman twisted her mouth to mimic Sierra; the image made her client stifle a giggle.

Mitchie approached and stroke Leone's cheek, "Oh, you bought cotton candy."

The baby frowned and hid Sierra's bosom, " I don't think he likes that name either."

"What will you be doing today, manicure?" Mitchie said as she went to sit behind her desk.

"No, I can't have refills with him."

"So, what will it be?" Marla asked as she took the Salon's robe off a customer who just finished.

"Can I just have a blowout?"

Mr. Lennox had done his daughter's hair all her life until his very last breath. Unable to style her hair alone, Sierra opted for blowout and silk press as a permanent hairstyle. Since she had natural hair since birth, her hair stretched behind her armpits. Unlike many, she did not seek length but brush-ability.

"Do you want me to take him, Sierra?" Lauren, the apprentice, asked.

Leone ducked his head in Sierra's chest as if he heard, and Sierra politely declined.

"So Sierra, when is his mom going to pick him up? You look tired.

Sierra sighed, " girls, this is a permanent contract I have with him."

"What do you mean?"

The first step to making ends meet was to tell the truth, and assume her reality in full.

"Well, it seems that I am his mom."

Bussy put a hand on her hip, and her face became one of a mom who caught their child coming in after curfew as she tilted her head, making auburn dreadlocks fall to the side, "come again?"