Ava Carter stared at the stained ceiling of her tiny apartment, counting the seconds between the leaking faucet's relentless drips. It was barely dawn, but sleep had slipped from her hours ago. Beside her, the blanket rose and fell with the shallow breaths of her daughter, Lila, six years old, tiny, and the only reason Ava still managed to keep her own lungs working. She pressed the back of her hand against Lila's forehead, praying the fever had broken. It hadn't. Her skin burned hot under Ava's touch, her tiny eyebrows knotted in discomfort even in sleep. Ava wanted to cry, but the tears had dried up weeks ago, somewhere between the second notice taped to her door and the final pink slip she'd stuffed into her purse yesterday.
She forced herself to get up. The floor was cold on her bare feet, the wood cracked and peeling. She'd meant to fix it once, when she still believed they'd live here longer than a year. When she still believed that anything in her life was stable enough to fix. In the kitchen, if you could call a counter wedged between the bathroom door and the fridge a kitchen, she poured what was left of the milk into a chipped mug. Half a cup. She added water to stretch it, Lila wouldn't complain; she never did. The clock on the wall mocked her. 5:42 a.m. In exactly eighteen minutes, she had to wake her daughter for school she wasn't sure she'd make it to today. Ava's job at the diner started at seven sharp, and Miss June, the neighbor who sometimes watched Lila when she was sick, had left a note on the door last night: Can't tomorrow, My son's in town.
Ava leaned against the counter, sipping what little coffee she had left. It was bitter, like burnt secrets on her tongue. On the table lay the bills she'd stacked neatly, unopened. Rent overdue by two months. Utilities past due. Medical bills she hadn't even dared to open since Lila's last trip to the ER. She'd tried, God, she'd tried to keep it together after Kevin walked out, leaving her with a sick child and an apartment he'd sworn he'd help pay for. A soft cough broke her thoughts. Lila was awake, her eyes watery and heavy-lidded. She sat up and peered at her mother with that brave, too-old look Ava hated seeing on a child's face.
"Mommy?" Lila's voice was a whisper. "I don't feel good."
"I know, baby," Ava said, forcing her mouth into a smile that felt like it would shatter her teeth. She crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed, and brushed hair back from Lila's damp forehead. "We're gonna get you feeling better today, okay?"
"Do I have to go to school?"
"No, sweetheart. You'll stay here. I'll figure it out."
A knock at the door startled her. Three sharp raps, too firm to be friendly. Her stomach flipped, she knew that knock. She pressed a kiss to Lila's forehead and went to the door, checking through the peephole.
Mr. Daniels,The landlord, Of course. She cracked the door open, but he shoved it wider with his palm, stepping into her space like he owned the air she breathed. He was wearing the same faded polo and cheap aftershave that turned her stomach.
"Ava," he said, all sigh and no smile. "We need to talk."
"Mr. Daniels, I know the rent's late, I just"
"No more promises, Ava. You said last month you'd have it by the fifteenth. It's the twenty-fourth."
"I know. I have a double shift today. I'll have it by Friday."
He looked around the tiny living room, eyes lingering on the peeling paint, the stacked bills, the toys in the corner. "Look, you're a nice girl. But I'm not running a charity. I have people waiting for this unit."
Ava's throat tightened. "Please. I just need a few more days."
"You've been saying that for months."
She felt the heat rise behind her eyes again, the dull, suffocating shame she'd learned to swallow whole. She hated begging. She'd never been the type, not until Kevin left. Not until the car broke down. Not until Lila started getting sick every other month and the hospital bills piled higher than her paychecks.
Daniels softened his voice, pretending to be gentle. "Look, if you can give me something, anything, by Friday, maybe I can hold off. Otherwise, I have to post an eviction notice." Something flared in her chest, anger, maybe. Fear disguised as rage. "I said I'd have it," she snapped. She regretted it immediately when Lila coughed from the bedroom.
Daniels lifted his hands. "Friday, Ava. Or I change the locks." He left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, but the tension stayed like smoke in her lungs. She exhaled slowly, counting to ten. Then fifteen. It didn't help.
Ava stood in the middle of her apartment, surrounded by everything she'd fought to hold onto, the cracked floor, the battered table, the faded couch Kevin had picked out three apartments ago. All of it suffocating her like a promise she couldn't keep. She was tired. Bone-deep tired. She went to her purse and pulled out her phone. The battery icon blinked red, mocking her like everything else. She scrolled through her contacts anyway, thumb hovering over the one name she hadn't dared to call in months. Kevin Carter,Her ex-husband, Her daughter's father. Her last resort.
She dropped the phone onto the table before she did something she'd hate herself for. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her beg. Not after everything he'd done, the nights he didn't come home, the days he spent burning through her savings on bets he promised would "come through."
No. She'd figure it out herself. She always did. When Lila drifted back to sleep, Ava changed into her uniform, black pants, a white blouse with a collar she'd ironed the night before. The diner's logo was stitched over her heart like a brand. She tugged her hair into a tight bun and stared at herself in the cracked bathroom mirror. She looked older than twenty-nine. Her eyes carried years she hadn't earned yet, tired and wide, a dull brown that used to be warm. She'd been pretty once, or so Kevin had said, back when flattery was free and promises cost nothing. She dabbed concealer under her eyes, wiped a smudge from her cheek, and forced her reflection to nod. You've got this, she lied to herself.
Ava called Miss June again. No answer counted it twice. Not enough for a cab. Barely enough for a bus ticket and a can of soup. Outside, the morning air was gray and sharp. She pulled her thin coat tighter around her, one hand gripping Lila's prescription she couldn't afford to fill yet. Her footsteps echoed down the cracked hallway of the building, the smell of old cigarettes and mildew pressing in from every corner. At the bus stop, Ava checked her phone again. One bar. One unread message: Reminder: Final notice: Utility Disconnect Scheduled for 2 PM Today.
Her stomach twisted. She glanced at Lila's picture in her phone background. Lila at the park, smiling wide, two missing teeth. She felt the burn in her chest again, sharp enough to swallow her whole.
Today was just another day,Another day to hold the pieces together. Another day she didn't have room to break. And somewhere, deep in her chest, a voice whispered: Something's going to give.
The diner smelled like burnt coffee and old grease familiar scents that wrapped around Ava like a threadbare blanket she both clung to and hated. She pushed through the back door, careful not to let it slam and wake Joe, the manager, if he was snoozing in the office again.
At the prep counter, she slipped on her apron, tucking her hair under a net. The steam from the kitchen already curled around her face, fogging her glasses. She grabbed the coffee pot, half-listening as Tina, the other waitress on the morning shift, rattled off the specials she'd scribbled onto the chalkboard by the door.
"Morning, Ava." Tina's voice was too chipper for 6:50 a.m. She popped her gum and glanced at the circles under Ava's eyes. "Rough night?"
Ava forced a tired smile. "Same as always."
"Table three's asking for decaf." Tina rolled her eyes. "He says the real stuff messes with his heart, but he dumps three sugars in it anyway."
Ava poured a fresh pot and grabbed the cracked mug from the rack. Her mind kept drifting back to Lila in bed, too warm, too still. The sitter she didn't have, the eviction notice she knew would come, the unpaid prescriptions rattling in her purse. She willed herself not to spiral. Not here, not with customers watching. She made her way through the narrow aisles, dodging elbows and the early morning fry sizzle, balancing the pot like her life depended on it. Maybe it did.
"Here you go, Mr. Price," she said, topping off the old man's cup. He gave her a soft grunt and didn't bother looking up. His hearing aid squealed, and he tapped it twice to quiet the static.
The door chimed. Cold air swept in behind a man she didn't recognize. He looked out of place in Joe's Diner, suit jacket, dark jeans, a day's worth of stubble on his jaw. He didn't glance at the chalkboard or the cracked counter. Instead, his eyes swept the room once before landing directly on Avalon. She froze, coffee pot suspended mid-air. Something about the way he watched her, not rude, not exactly friendly either made the fine hairs at her neck stand up. He took a booth by the window. Sunlight caught on the scar that cut across his brow, half-hidden under messy hair that hadn't seen a comb today. He looked tired, like he'd spent the night driving or not sleeping at all.
Ava set the pot back on the warmer and smoothed her apron. Focus, Carter, she told herself. Table four wants eggs, not your life story. She grabbed her notepad and made her way over, pen poised and polite smile fixed. "Good morning. What can I get you?"
The man didn't pick up a menu. Up close, she saw the shadows under his eyes. They reminded her of her own. He studied her face too long before speaking, like he was memorizing details he'd need later.
"Coffee. Black." His voice was rough, unused. "And whatever you recommend."
She blinked. "You want me to pick your breakfast?"
"Yeah." His mouth twitched like he might smile but changed his mind halfway through. "You look like someone who knows what's worth eating around here."
She scribbled quickly. "Coffee and the special then. Eggs, bacon, toast."
"Sounds good."
She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a question that didn't belong. "You Ava Carter?"
Her steps stalled. The air between them thickened, shifting from polite customer talk to something else entirely. She forced herself to look him in the eye. "Excuse me?"
His eyes softened, just barely. "I'm not trying to spook you. I just need to talk."
Ava's mind raced. Who was he? A cop? Social worker? Another debt collector sent to squeeze blood from a stone?
"I'm working," she said, voice low but steady. "If you want to talk, come back later."
"I'll wait," he said simply, leaning back in the booth like he owned the whole damn diner.
Ava spun on her heel, her heart pounding a ragged drumbeat in her ribs. Tina shot her a questioning look from behind the register, but Ava just shook her head. She had bigger problems. This man, whoever he was felt like a warning she hadn't been ready for. She didn't have time for warnings. She had bills to pay, a sick child at home, and no room left for strangers who said they wanted to talk. From behind the counter, she poured his coffee with trembling hands. Through the window's warped reflection, she caught him watching her again, eyes sharp, patient, as if he could see right through the walls she'd built to keep herself standing.