They asked me to complete a language assessment.
I spent three evenings preparing.
My first assignment was a short commercial document unrelated to Rinaldi Holdings or the ongoing investigation.
I completed it at my kitchen table with a dictionary, a laptop, and a cup of coffee that went cold before I finished.
The editor returned it with corrections.
I made them.
A second assignment followed.
Then a third.
I didn’t quit the restaurant immediately.
I still needed the income.
But for the first time in years, the degree I’d worked so hard to earn was becoming useful in the way I’d once imagined.
One evening, my mother called while I was revising a translation.
“Are you coming over Sunday?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Ben says you’re doing legal documents now.”
“Commercial documents,” I corrected. “I’m not a lawyer.”
She laughed.
“I know, sweetheart.”
Then she asked whether I was eating properly.
I told her I was.
After we hung up, I returned to the page on my screen.
Near the bottom was a sentence containing a conditional clause.
I read it carefully.
Then I checked the original language again.
Outside my window, traffic moved along the street.
My phone buzzed with a message from Ben.
Mom wants you to bring bread Sunday. Don’t forget.
I smiled.
Then I adjusted the translation, saved the document, and wrote the final note to the editor explaining why the condition needed to remain explicit.
