Lisa’s Birthday Wish

Lisa sat on the edge of the narrow twin bed, her children bundled beneath a single quilt. Ciara, five years old and already fiercely protective of her younger siblings, clung to Lisa’s arm even in sleep. Liam lay sprawled on his stomach, one chubby hand gripping the battered toy car he carried everywhere. Marie, the baby of the family, was curled against Lisa’s hip, her tiny fingers still sticky from the crackers they’d shared for dinner.

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the old microwave in the corner and the distant rumble of cars on the street below. The room was no larger than a storage closet, barely big enough for the bed, a small dresser with one drawer broken, and the tiny square of carpet where her children played with donated blocks. The walls were bare, paint peeling in places, but Lisa had taped up one picture: a crayon drawing of a family of four, Ciara’s handwriting at the top spelling out “Mommy and us.”

Tomorrow was Lisa’s birthday. She would be twenty-seven. But birthdays, she thought, had long since stopped being about cake or presents. They were milestones that only reminded her of what she didn’t have: a stable home, a partner to share the burden, a chance to breathe without worrying what bill would crush her next.

She worked forty-seven hours a week at the local retail store, stocking shelves until her back ached, cashiering until her smile cracked. The paycheck came in every two weeks, and nearly all of it went straight back out—to childcare, to the rent for this one-bedroom apartment, to bus fare. By the time groceries were bought, there was almost nothing left.

Lisa folded her hands. She whispered the same prayer she’d whispered every night for months, maybe years.

“Please, Lord… don’t let them struggle like I have. Let them grow up warm, safe, and happy. Give me the strength to keep going.”

Her eyes burned with tears, but exhaustion weighed her down. With her children’s soft breathing around her, Lisa drifted into sleep.

Her alarm pulled her back too soon. At 5:15 the next morning, she rolled out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake the kids. She slipped into her faded blue work polo, tied her hair back with an elastic, and grabbed her scuffed shoes.

Ciara was already stirring, though. “Do you have to go, Mommy?” she whispered, eyes half-closed.

“I do, sweetheart,” Lisa said, kissing her forehead. “But I’ll be back tonight. Be good for Ms. Carol, okay?”

The neighbor down the hall, a retired grandmother, watched the children before daycare opened. Lisa paid her what she could, though she knew the woman sometimes refused money when she saw how thin Lisa’s wallet was. It was one of those quiet mercies that kept her going.

By the time Lisa clocked in at the store, she’d already walked ten blocks with three half-asleep kids, dropped them at daycare, and run for the bus. Her shift was long, the aisles busy with back-to-school shoppers. She pushed through, hands raw from cardboard, smile plastered on for customers who sometimes treated her like she was invisible.

Halfway through the day, her manager called her into the back office. Lisa braced herself—another lecture about being late last week when the bus broke down? But instead, Mr. Taylor held out a paper.

“Corporate’s starting a training program for new supervisors,” he said. “You’re one of the hardest workers we’ve got. I think you should apply.”

Lisa blinked. “Me?”

“You’ve earned it,” he said simply.

She tucked the paper into her pocket, her heart racing. More pay. Benefits. A chance. It wasn’t a miracle, but it was something.

That evening, she trudged back into the apartment with her kids. Ciara was chattering about a new song she’d learned at daycare. Liam showed off a sticker on his hand. Marie clung to Lisa’s leg, babbling happily.

On the floor by the door lay an envelope with her name written in looping handwriting. Lisa frowned and tore it open.

Inside was a note from her landlord. “Lisa, I know things have been tight. A community program has partnered with our building to help struggling tenants. I submitted your name. You’ve been approved for three months’ rent assistance.”

Lisa gasped, pressing the letter to her chest. Three whole months where she wouldn’t have to choose between rent and groceries. Three months where every paycheck wouldn’t vanish into someone else’s pocket.

She sank onto the bed, children crawling into her lap, waving the paper with shaking hands. “Babies, do you know what this means? Mommy’s birthday wish is starting to come true.”

That night, after tucking her children in, Lisa sat in the dim light with the supervisor application spread out before her. The form looked intimidating—boxes to check, essays to answer—but she gripped the pen tightly.

Her hands trembled as she began to write, but each word came easier than the last. She wrote about her experience, about juggling long hours while raising three kids. She wrote about dedication, about showing up even when she was bone-tired, about leading by example.

She paused, looking over at the sleeping children piled together on the bed. Ciara’s curls spilled across the pillow, Liam’s toy car balanced on his chest, Marie’s tiny thumb tucked into her mouth.

Lisa whispered again, not a desperate plea this time, but a steady promise.

“Thank you for hearing me. Thank you for giving us a way forward. I’ll do my part.”

She signed her name at the bottom of the application.

For the first time in years, Lisa allowed herself to imagine something more. A home with enough space for each child to have a bed. A birthday where she didn’t feel dread but gratitude. A life where struggle wasn’t the whole story, just the beginning.

And as the clock ticked past midnight, Lisa smiled. It was her birthday now, and she finally believed that better days were possible—not because of magic, but because of hard work, small mercies, and the courage to step through every door that opened.