They step into the job believing in structure, in rules, in the safety of distance. But the distance shrinks each time a mother begs through plexiglass, each time a child’s file is marked “unaccompanied” in a cheerful dropdown menu. They discover how a misplaced stamp can pause a flight, how “lost in transit” can mean one more visit, one more hearing, one more chance.
At home, they wash their hands and tell themselves they are only doing what they were hired to do. The country praises order, stability, the invisible labor that keeps its borders neat. Yet in the quiet moments—staring at a glowing screen, or a sleepless ceiling—they feel the weight of every locked door they never touched. The promotions arrive, the benefits accrue, but the question refuses to leave: when comfort rests on cages, whose soul is paying the hidden cost?
