For years, Rita lived in a world where people looked through her rather than at her.
She pushed a cart filled with empty bottles through the streets, collecting whatever she could find and turning it into enough money for the simplest necessities. A meal. A warm drink. A place to rest when she could find one.
Day after day, she repeated the same routine.
There were no guarantees.
Some days brought enough bottles to eat. Other days brought hunger. Cold nights followed long days on her feet, and loneliness became something she learned to carry without complaint.
People passed her constantly.
Some stared.
Some ignored her.
Most simply kept walking.
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