The Mistake
Back in the ’90s, I worked at the city’s planning department — the kind of job that lived and died by paperwork. Zoning applications, building permits, endless forms.
One day, a report crossed my desk — a small tutoring center cited for violations: blocked fire exits, poor ventilation, missing permits. I was strict about those things, prided myself on being by the book. I filed the complaint myself.
The name of the center?
Bright Steps Learning Center.
My heart sank.
That was where Zayd said he worked that night.
The “tutoring” he’d mentioned.
The center had closed within months of my report. I never thought twice about it. For me, it was just another file. But for him? Maybe it was his livelihood. His place to belong.
I suddenly felt sick.
