For the first time in what felt like years, I thought… maybe things were getting better.
My father's breathing had steadied with the new medicine. The girls had stopped waking up crying in the middle of the night. And I managed to get a few more hours of work cleaning houses—just enough to put warm food on the table again.
It wasn't much. But it was hope.
And sometimes… hope was the most dangerous thing to have.
That morning started like any other.
Emma and May were playing quietly in the corner of the small living room while I prepared to leave for work.
Just as I stepped outside, I saw a man in a dark suit waiting near the gate.
Cold dread filled my chest.
He wasn't from the neighborhood.
And when he stepped forward and spoke, my worst fears were confirmed.
"Ma'am, I'm here regarding the property."
The ground felt like it shifted beneath me.
"This house… your father's house… has an outstanding debt. The bank has issued a final notice."
I could barely breathe.
"No… no, that's not possible. We've been paying what we can—"
He shook his head, expressionless.
"The debt isn't just overdue. It's been sold to a third party. You have one week to settle it or vacate the premises."
My knees almost gave out.
One week?
Where would we go?
How could I save this house?
The house that held every memory of my childhood… my father's last comfort…
And just like that, the tiny thread of hope I'd been clinging to snapped.
That night, after the girls had fallen asleep, I sat alone by the cracked window, staring out into the endless darkness.
Tears spilled freely this time.
I didn't try to hold them back.
And for the first time, I let myself ask the question I had buried deep inside.
When is it my turn to live?
I had survived.
But was survival all there would ever be?
Just as I wiped my tears, a familiar low hum of an engine echoed outside.
I stood up, heart pounding.
I didn't dare believe it.
But when I stepped out onto the porch, the street was empty again.
Except for a single, folded piece of paper left under a small stone by the gate.
I picked it up with trembling hands.
It was blank on the outside.
But inside, in the same elegant handwriting, were just four words.
"Hold on. I'm near."