The kids were finally both in school and my ex had stopped paying maintenance. I remember sitting in my kitchen that morning, staring at the electricity bill and thinking: something's got to give.
I'd always been good with people. Worked in hospitality before the kids, knew how to read a room, make someone feel comfortable. When a friend who did this work mentioned how much she earned in a single night compared to what I was making in a week at the cafe, something clicked.
It wasn't romantic or dramatic. It was practical. I needed to keep a roof over our heads, keep the heating on, make sure the kids had what they needed. And suddenly here was a way to do that which didn't involve begging my ex or working endless shifts that meant never seeing my children.
The first time was terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. But I was professional, careful. Chose my clients through a trusted network, always made sure someone knew where I was. My safety matters more than anything.
Now it's just part of how I make our life work. Two different worlds that somehow balance each other out. The school run in the morning, a different kind of work some evenings. All of it is just... providing. Just another way of taking care of what matters.