The apartment smelled faintly of medicine and stale bread
Helen Carter sat at the small kitchen table, green eyes scanning the stack of unpaid bills like they might magically sort themselves. Her mother's weak cough echoed from the bedroom, each sound twisting her stomach into tighter knots. She should have been thinking about dorm rooms and college classes about textbooks and new friends but instead, she was thinking about whether she could scrape together enough money for medicine, groceries, and rent this month
Her fingers lingered over a crumpled college brochure. Nineteen years old, an only child, and suddenly the weight of the world pressed down on her fragile shoulders
Her father had died years ago, leaving nothing but debts and absence for her to pay frowning getting angry at her father
Her mother's illness had turned that absence into a constant, gnawing pressure. Helen forced herself to swallow the panic rising in her chest. She couldn't break down now. Not when her mother needed her. Not when she needed herself
"Don't worry, Mom," she whispered, pressing her hand over her mother's pale one. "I'll figure it out. Somehow
She had no idea how she would figure it out. But she had to. There was no other choice. Survival wasn't optional it was mandatory.
She grabbed the worn jacket by the door, slung her bag over her shoulder, and checked the little mirror in the hall. Her blonde hair was messy from hours hunched over bills, her green eyes tired but determined. Helen had learned to smile through exhaustion, to speak politely even when her body screamed for rest. It was a skill she had honed out of necessity
The walk to the bus stop was brisk. The city lights reflected off wet streets; the faint drizzle soaked her coat before she even realized it. She clutched her bag tighter, praying that tonight's catering shift would be enough to cover at least some of the bills. Every step, every task, every polite smile to a wealthy guest was a small victory against the impossible
At the hotel, she slipped into the uniform, adjusting her name tag, smoothing her hair, and forcing herself to stand taller than she felt. The ballroom smelled of expensive perfume, polished floors, and a faint metallic tang of champagne. She moved between tables carefully, balancing trays and forced smiles, keeping her head down. She didn't belong here, and everyone could tell. But she couldn't let it show. Not to them. Not to herself.
Her mother's face flashed in her mind, pale and trusting. Helen squared her shoulders. She would survive. She would fight. She had no one else to rely on, so she relied on herself. And in a city full of people who didn't notice, she would keep moving forward, step by step, tray by tray, heartbeat by heartbeat.
Because tomorrow, someone had to be strong for both of them. And if not her, then who?