Emily's POV
The alarm dragged me from something that wasn't quite sleep. I'd been drifting in that gray space between unconsciousness and anxiety, where unpaid bills multiply and eviction notices pile higher.
My hand found the clock and silenced it. 5:47 AM.
The bedroom was still dark, the window showing only the faint orange glow of streetlights. Somewhere outside, a garbage truck groaned and hissed.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold against my bare feet, a shock that felt almost cleansing. I sat there for a moment, staring at my reflection in the mirror across the room.
Pale skin. Tangled honey-blonde hair. Dark circles under my eyes that no amount of sleep would fix anymore.
I looked away.
"Mommy?" Lily's voice drifted through the wall.
I straightened immediately, muscle memory kicking in. Another day. Another performance of Everything Is Fine.
"Coming, sweetheart!"
—---
Lily's room was warm despite the peeling wallpaper and the rug worn thin in the middle. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her curls messy and tangled around her face.
"Is Grandma okay?" she asked, quiet… too quiet.
I knelt beside her bed, brushing a curl from her forehead. "She's still sleeping. How about you? Did you sleep well?"
She nodded, but her fingers worried at Mr. Hops' ear…the stuffed bunny Tom had won for her at a carnival three months before he died.
"She called me Sarah again yesterday," Lily whispered. "I think she forgot who I was."
My chest tightened. Sarah was my mother's sister, dead for fifteen years.
"Grandma has bad days," I said, keeping my voice steady. "But she loves you so much. You know that, right?"
Lily nodded, but her eyes stayed worried.
"Now," I said, forcing brightness into my tone. "Your mission today is to make sure I don't burn breakfast. Think you can handle that?"
A small smile tugged at her lips. "You always burn the eggs."
"Exactly why I need supervision."
She giggled, and the sound loosened something in my chest.
At the kitchen table, Lily sat carefully coloring a worksheet. The crayon in her hand was broken in half, worn down to a nub. She clutched both pieces, using them together to fill in a flower.
"You know we have whole crayons in the drawer," I said gently.
She paused, looked at the little wax pieces in her hands, then shook her head.
"This one still works."
I watched her color, using every last bit of that broken crayon, refusing to waste it until it was nothing but wax under her fingernails.
That's my daughter, I thought. Learning to save what she can.
—--
By the time we reached the bus stop, the morning had turned cold and gray. I knelt to adjust Lily's too-small scarf, trying to hide the worn ends from her sharp eyes.
"Mommy, look."
Her voice was so quiet I almost missed it.
She lifted her foot.
The sole of her shoe had a hole the size of a quarter, the edges worn and frayed, her sock visible underneath.
My throat closed.
"Oh, honey..."
"It's okay." She lowered her foot quickly, like she regretted showing me. "It doesn't hurt much. Only when I step on rocks."
How long? How long had she been walking around like this? How long had she hidden it from me, not wanting to add to my burdens?
I cupped her face in my hands, forcing myself to meet those worried blue eyes.
"Don't you worry about a thing, sweetheart. I'll get you new shoes, okay? I promise."
"But Mommy, the bills…"
"No buts." I kissed her forehead. "You let me worry about that. Deal?"
She nodded, but the concern didn't leave her face.
The bus pulled up with a hiss of brakes and a cloud of exhaust.
"Bye, Mommy! I love you!" She waved from the steps.
"I love you too, sweetie!"
I waved until the bus turned the corner… and the smile slid right off my face.
—---
At home, Mom was awake but lost, staring at the TV. I settled her with oatmeal, coaxed her through morning pills, and dressed for work. I quickly changed into my scrubs, the fabric worn thin from too many washes.
I was halfway to the trash chute, bills clutched in my fist, when I saw it.
The envelope sat at the bottom of the pile, thick cream paper that felt expensive between my fingers. No return address. Just my name in elegant black script…Ms. Emily Greene…written, not printed.
The paper smelled faintly of something I couldn't place. Cedar, maybe. Or old books.
I turned it over. A dark red wax seal held it closed, pressed with an intricate symbol 'B' I didn't recognize.
My fingers hesitated on the seal.
This felt wrong. Scam, obviously. Rich people nonsense. I should throw it away.
I held it over the trash chute, the red wax catching the hallway light.
This one still works, Lily had said this morning, clutching her broken crayon.
I broke the seal.
The wax cracked cleanly, releasing another wave of that strange cedar scent. Inside, a single sheet of the same heavy paper, the handwriting precise and slanted:
Dear Ms. Greene,
You have been recommended for a position of particular delicacy. My client who prefers remain discreet at this time, requires a caregiver of uncommon dedication, one who understands loss, who knows the weight of responsibility, and who will not ask questions that need not be answered.
The compensation will eliminate your debts entirely. Your daughter's education will be secured. Your mother's care guaranteed.
How I know these details is not your concern. Whether you accept is.
Wednesday, 2 PM. The address below.
C. Bennett
—---
I read it again. Then a third time.
My pulse quickened, the words blurring together as my mind raced. Who would send me something like this? How did they know about Lily? About Mom? About the debts?
The address was in the old district, near the historic mansions that tourists photographed but locals avoided after dark.
The rational part of me screamed scam. Danger. Too good to be true.
But the desperate part, the part drowning in overdue bills and Mom's medication I couldn't afford, wanted to believe it.
I folded the letter carefully and tucked it into my purse.
—---
Work felt distant, like I was watching myself from underwater.
The nursing home smelled of antiseptic and overcooked vegetables.
"Your tea's too cold." Mrs. Carroll glared from her wheelchair. "I asked for hot tea."
"I'll make a fresh pot." I kept my voice level, even though I'd served it two minutes ago. Even though my feet ached and all I wanted was to sit down.
"See that you do."
In the kitchen, I gripped the counter and counted to thirty.
"Rough morning?" Sam appeared beside me, already in his scrubs for the afternoon shift
"Mrs. Carroll's tea is never the right temperature."
"It's a Tuesday." He nodded knowingly. "She always thinks someone's trying to poison her on Tuesdays."
Despite everything, I laughed.
"You look beat, Em. When's the last time you had a full night's sleep?"
Five years ago, I thought. The night before the phone call.
"I'm fine," I said instead.
In the break room, I counted the contents of my tip jar and the crumpled bills from my purse. Twenty-three dollars and forty-seven cents. Not enough for medication. Not enough for rent.
But enough for shoes.
—---
I walked three blocks to the discount store. The children's section was picked over—mostly sandals left, and winter boots two sizes too big. But there, on the clearance rack: pink sneakers with little stars on the sides. Size 2. Lily's size.
$19.99.
I clutched them to my chest like treasure.
"You look like you're carrying gold," the cashier said, scanning the tag.
"Close enough," I said.
Three dollars and forty-eight cents left.
—---
The apartment was too quiet when I got home at eleven forty-seven PM.
I stood in the doorway, exhaustion weighing down my bones, and tried to process what I was seeing. The living room was clean. The dishes were washed. The scatter of Lily's homework that always littered the coffee table was gone.
A note sat propped against the salt shaker.
Emily,
I hope you don't mind, I let myself in with the spare key. Fed Lily and your mom dinner (just spaghetti, nothing fancy) and put them both to bed. Lily's homework is done. That girl is smart as a whip.
I saw what happened with Mr. Grissom yesterday. I'm so sorry, honey. I know things are hard right now, but you're not alone. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you reach out.
You're a good mother, Emily. Don't you forget that.
Love, Mrs. J
The tears came before I could stop them.
I pressed the note to my chest, overwhelmed by the simple kindness of it. In a world that took and took and took, here was someone giving freely.
I set the shoe bag on the table next to the note. A small victory in an endless war.
My phone was in my hand before I could second-guess it.
She answered on the fourth ring, her voice thick with sleep. "Hello? Emily? Honey, is everything alright?"
"I'm sorry for calling so late." The words came out in a rush. "I just got home and saw your note. I can't thank you enough..."
"Hush now. That's what neighbors do. What friends do."
"I don't know what I'd do without you." My voice broke.
"You're stronger than you think." Her voice was firm. "Now, was that all? Or is there something else? I can hear it."
I hesitated, then pulled the letter from my purse.
"Something strange happened today. I got a letter. About a job. A caregiver position."
"Well, that's wonderful! Isn't it?"
"I don't know." I stared at the broken wax seal. "It's from someone named C. Bennett. They won't say who the client is. They want me to come to some address Wednesday at 2 PM. And Mrs. J... they know everything. About Lily. About Mom. About my debts. They didn't say how."
Mrs. Johnson was quiet for a moment.
"That does sound strange," she said carefully. "What does your gut tell you?"
"My gut says I'm desperate enough to walk into danger if it means keeping a roof over my daughter's head."
She chuckled softly. "Oh, honey. I hear you. But what if it's real? What if this is that miracle you asked for?"
"And what if it's not?"
"Then you walk away," she said simply. "You're smart. If something feels wrong, you leave. But don't let fear rob you of a chance. Sometimes the strangest things turn out to be blessings."
Her words settled over me like a blanket.
"You really think I should go?"
"I do. And I'll watch Lily and your mom Wednesday afternoon. You focus on yourself for once."
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. "Thank you."
"Get some sleep. You've got a big day coming."
—---
After we hung up, I sat at the kitchen table for a long time, staring at the letter. That strange cedar smell still clung to the paper.
I placed the shoes outside Lily's door, a small surprise for the morning. Then I dragged myself to bed, the letter tucked safely in my purse.
I pulled it out one more time, studying the wax seal I'd broken.
I thought of Lily saying "It doesn't hurt much. Only when I step on rocks."
Tomorrow. 2 PM.
Whatever waited for me at that address, I had no choice but to find out if this was a blessing or just another cruel joke.