A SUDDEN EVICTION
The rain in Southwark, London didn't just fall; it seemed to attack. It lashed against the uPVC windows across Southwark, a rhythmic drumming that felt like it was mocking the quiet inside.
Sixteen-year-old Victoria stood by the stove, stirring a pot of thin soup. Her movements were automatic, her eyes fixed on a tiny crack in the kitchen tile.
It had been exactly one month since the accident—one month since the screech of tires and the crash of metal had claimed the lives of her parents and little brother, Leo, in a heartbeat.
It wasn't just that her family was gone; it was the way everything they had known disappeared with them—safety, certainty, and the carefree feeling of being a child.
"Vic? Is it ready?"
Victoria flinched, knocking the wooden spoon against the side of the pot with a hollow sound. She turned to see the twins, Clara and Celine, standing shyly in the doorway.
At ten years old, they looked like two pieces of a shattered mirror—pale, wide-eyed, wearing oversized sweaters that carried the scent of their mother's laundry detergent.
"Almost," Victoria replied, her voice raspy from lack of use. "Sit down. Use the good napkins."
They didn't really have good napkins—just paper towels. But Victoria needed them to feel like life still held some shape.
The front door creaked open, followed by the confident thud of polished brogues_ Dante.
Dante walked in without knocking, leaving a puddle of rainwater on the linoleum, darkening the floor toward the girls' feet.
"Good morning, Uncle Dante…" Victoria greeted softly.
"I hope you've taken care of your things?" he interrupted, his eyes narrowing at the thin soup with a look of disgust.
"You shouldn't be here, Dante," Victoria yelled, her back straightening. "The social worker said—"
"The social worker says whatever I tell her," he cut her off smoothly, like oil over a stone.
He pulled out a thick envelope from his pocket and tossed it onto the table, right beside the twins' bowls.
"I've looked over your father's 'affairs.' Turns out, his business was deep in debt."
Celine, who always paid close attention, frowned. "But papa said the company was doing well. He showed me the ledgers."
Dante's gaze flicked to her, annoyance flashing through his eyes.
"Your father was a dreamer, Celine. And dreamers often tell lies. The house, the estate, the accounts—they've all been liquidated to cover his debts..."
"You're lying," Victoria whispered, her voice trembling. She stepped forward, holding the ladle like a weapon. "Nothing was willed to you. You can't just take everything and throw us out."
"I've already taken everything," Dante said, leaning close enough for her to smell the cigars and cold ambition on his breath.
"And since I'm now the executor of the Sterling estate, I've decided I can't have three liabilities draining what's left. You have one hour to pack. There's a studio apartment in the East End, rent paid for a year. After that, you're on your own…"
"You're throwing us out?" Clara's voice quivered. "In the rain?"
"Yes," Dante snapped. "I'm giving you a lesson in reality, you little brats." Then he turned to Victoria. "You're the oldest. Whether you understand it or not, there are plenty of orphanages for kids who can't keep up. An orphanage might not be a bad idea."
He left as quickly as he had arrived, the door clicking shut behind him like a coffin lid. The silence that followed weighed more heavily than the rain.
Clara started to sob quietly, her hiccups soft and trembling.
Celine stared at the envelope Dante left, her small face tightening into a mask of calculation—an expression that looked far too serious for a child.
Victoria felt a chilly wave of clarity wash over her—not the dull cold of grief, but the sharp, icy focus of a hunter. She gently walked over to the twins, pulling them into her warm embrace.
"Listen carefully," Victoria whispered softly into their hair. "He challenged us to figure it out; he thinks we're liabilities, that we'll disappear. We are leaving, and we won't disappear," she finished with a heavy, determined breath, her eyes blazing with a fierce light.
"I hate him," Clara shouted.
"It's okay, Clara," Victoria reassured her gently. We will survive"
"How?" Clara asked, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
Victoria glanced at the pot of soup and then at the dark rain pouring outside the window.
"I'm not sure yet," she admitted softly. "But I will start by finding a job. And you two—you're going to be the smartest girl in every room you walk into. That's our promise. Do you hear me?"
The twins nodded, clutching Victoria's shirt tightly.