The next morning came too soon.
Elina woke to the familiar tight ache behind her eyes, the kind that settled in after nights where sleep felt more like blinking than resting. The digital clock glowed 5:12 am. She had forty-eight minutes before she needed to grab her bag and dash to her second job: cleaning offices across town before the staff arrived.
She stretched silently, careful not to wake Liam, who was curled beside her under their thin blanket. He had pushed closer in his sleep, half-wrapped around her arm like he used to when he was little and scared of thunderstorms.
She brushed his hair gently off his forehead.
"Sleep, troublemaker," she whispered.
He didn't stir.
Elina moved quietly, grabbing her worn backpack and the bottle of water she refilled twice a day at different job locations because their tap at home tasted metallic and bitter. She tiptoed past her mother's room, pausing briefly to listen.
Soft breathing.
Thank God.
She left the apartment and stepped into the early morning chill. The city was still half-asleep, wrapped in grey-blue shadows. Her footsteps echoed on the pavement as she headed toward the bus stop. She hugged her thin jacket closer, shivering, and wished, not for the first time, that she could afford a thicker one.
The bus arrived late, wheezing as if it hated mornings as much as she did. Elina climbed aboard, swiped her transit card, and winced when the machine beeped red.
Insufficient balance.
The driver, a middle-aged woman who'd seen Elina enough times to recognize exhaustion when it stared back, waved a dismissive hand.
"Just go. I know you're good for it."
Elina mouthed thank you and sat near the back, hugging her backpack to her chest. Gratitude and shame tangled in her chest like they always did. She hated needing kindness. Hated owing anyone anything.
The city blurred by outside the window, empty streets, flickering signs, stray cats slinking between garbage bins. It was a world she had grown used to, one built on survival, not comfort.
When she reached the tall office building, she slipped inside with her keycard and headed to the janitor's supply closet. The musty smell of cleaning chemicals filled her nose as she grabbed gloves, a mop bucket, and a rag.
Most people didn't realize how early the building sparkled. How many hands scrubbed behind the scenes to make everything perfect for the workers arriving at nine. How many invisible souls like her swept and wiped and polished without ever being seen.
She worked floor by floor, emptying bins, dusting desks, wiping smudges from glass partitions. The building was silent except for the hum of central heating and the soft squeak of her shoes on the freshly mopped tile.
By the time she reached the top floor, her arms felt numb. Her fingers ached from squeezing the mop handle too tightly. Her head buzzed with the memory of Nurse Elena's voicemail from the previous day. She still hadn't called back. She couldn't, not until she had a little more money saved up.
Fear was easier to ignore when she stayed busy.
She finished the last room and glanced at the time. 8:49 am. Just enough time to return the cleaning cart and slip out before the office staff arrived.
But as she pushed the cart toward the closet, a voice called out.
"Elina?"
She froze.
Only one person in the entire building knew her by name.
Sure enough, footsteps echoed behind her, and she turned to see Mr. Turner striding down the hallway. He was one of the senior accountants, kind, soft-spoken, and always wearing the same grey sweater vest over his shirt. He was also the only one who ever spoke to her like she mattered.
"You're done already?" he asked, stopping a few feet away.
"Yes, Mr. Turner," she said politely. "Just finishing up."
He smiled in that gentle way of his. "You don't have to call me 'Mr.' I'm not that old."
"You're older than me," she teased lightly, because he always expected a little playful pushback from her.
He clutched his chest dramatically. "Ah, my poor heart. Destroyed before nine in the morning."
She laughed softly.
But then his expression changed, sharper, more concerned. "How's your mother doing?"
Elina stiffened. She hated that question. Hated the truth behind it.
"She's… okay," she lied.
He didn't believe her. He never did. But he didn't push.
"If you ever need help," he said gently, "even if it's just someone to listen…"
"I know," she cut in quickly. "Thank you."
His smile was warm, but his eyes were sad.
"You're carrying too much on your own."
Elina swallowed hard and forced a nod.
"I have to get going. My next shift starts soon."
"Of course," he said softly. "Take care."
She hurried past him, returning the cleaning supplies, and slipped out of the building before anyone else appeared.
Outside, the morning had brightened. People bustled about, coffee in hand, chatting loudly, rushing to jobs that paid more in an hour than she earned in half a day.
Her stomach twisted.
She headed toward the pharmacy next.
The bell above the pharmacy door chimed as she entered. A bored-looking clerk glanced up from behind the counter.
"Name?" he asked without emotion.
"Elina Hart," she said.
He typed quickly, then sighed. "The medication is ready, but you still have an outstanding balance."
"How much?" she asked, already bracing herself.
"Two hundred and eighty-four."
Her breath caught. She had known it would be high, but the number still punched the air out of her lungs.
"I… I can pay some today," she said quietly. "Maybe forty."
The clerk frowned. "We can't release the medication until the full balance is paid."
Her heart dropped to her stomach.
"Please. My mother needs this. She's getting worse. I swear I'll pay the rest, just let me take...."
"I'm sorry," he said with a shrug, clearly not sorry at all. "Rules."
She felt her face burn with frustration and helplessness.
"Can you at least hold it for two more days?"
He sighed again, as if she were inconveniencing him. "We can hold it today and tomorrow. After that, it goes back into stock."
Elina nodded and forced a quiet, "Thank you."
When she left the pharmacy, she blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling. Crying wouldn't get the medicine. Crying wouldn't fix anything. She needed the money and fast.
As she crossed the street, weaving through crowds, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, half-expecting another missed call from the clinic.
But it was Liam.
Liam: Elina? The school just called. The principal wants to see you.
Her stomach flipped.
Now what?
She typed quickly.
Elina: Why? What happened?
His response came fast.
Liam: I don't know. They just said it's urgent.
Urgent.
That word made her pulse spike.
She turned around immediately, changing direction toward Liam's school. Her legs moved on instinct, her mind running through possibilities.
Was he in trouble?
Had something happened to him?
Had he skipped class? Gotten into a fight? Collapsed?
Her heart pounded harder with each step.
When she arrived at the school office, Liam was sitting outside the principal's door, backpack on the floor, his knee bouncing nervously.
Elina rushed over. "Liam? What is going on?"
He looked up, guilt written clearly across his face.
"Elina… don't be mad."
Her stomach clenched. "What did you do?"
Before he could answer, the principal opened the door.
"Ms. Hart? Please come in."
Elina followed her inside, Liam trailing behind, both of them quiet.
The principal, a stern woman with rectangular glasses, sat behind her desk and folded her hands.
"Liam is a bright student," she began. "One of our best. But lately he's been distracted. Missing assignments. Falling asleep in class."
Elina froze.
Her gaze snapped to Liam.
"Liam. We talked about this."
He looked down, cheeks burning. "I know."
The principal continued. "Today, he fainted during physical education."
Elina felt the blood drain from her face.
"What?"
"He said he hasn't eaten since yesterday morning."
Elina's stomach twisted painfully.
The principal's gaze softened slightly. "Ms. Hart… is everything all right at home?"
Elina nodded quickly. "Yes. Everything's fine. He just forgets to eat sometimes."
"That is not true," Liam muttered quietly.
Elina shot him a look, silently begging him not to say more.
But he did.
"Elina gives us her food," he blurted. "She barely eats anything. She works all day and comes home exhausted…"
"Liam," Elina whispered, voice cracking.
The principal sighed softly, compassion flickering in her eyes.
"You're doing your best. I can see that. But something needs to change."
Elina swallowed hard.
"I'll fix it. I promise."
The principal nodded.
"Take Liam home. Let him rest. We'll allow him to make up missed work."
Elina thanked her, gathered Liam's backpack, and walked him outside. Neither of them spoke until they reached the sidewalk.
Then Liam stopped abruptly.
"Elina," he said, voice trembling with frustration and guilt. "I'm not a baby. You need to eat. You can't keep doing this."
She crouched down slightly so she could meet his eyes.
"Liam… I'm okay."
"You're not," he whispered. "And Mom's not. And I'm tired of pretending we're fine when we're not."
Her chest tightened.
He looked like he wanted to cry.
She looked like she wanted to disappear.
She pulled him into her arms and held him tight.
"I'm trying," she whispered against his hair. "I'm trying so hard."
"I know," he murmured. "But we're drowning."
Elina closed her eyes.
For the first time in a long time, she couldn't argue.
When she finally let go, Liam wiped his face quickly and tried to look brave.
"What do we do now?" he asked.
Elina didn't have an answer.
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him down the street, the weight of their world growing heavier with every step.
In the distance, dark clouds gathered over the city, as if warning her that everything she feared was only the beginning of what was coming.