FATED TO THE CURSED SILKSWORTH BROTHERS

Chapter Three: Relocating to Emberpine

Mia's POV

I spread every drawing I'd ever created across the floor of my tiny apartment. Three years of work. Three years of late nights and stolen lunch breaks and moments when I'd actually felt like myself.

My hands shook as I photographed each piece, uploading them to every online marketplace I could find. The prices I typed made my throat tight. These were worth more. I was worth more, but worth didn't matter when the hospital was threatening to stop my father's treatment. When debt collectors called three times a day. When I had exactly seventy-two dollars in my account and nowhere left to turn.

Desperation didn't care about art or dignity or dreams.

The first sale notification came within twenty minutes. A business person in the city bought my skyline series, six pieces, for less than half what they deserved. I stared at the payment confirmation, feeling something crack inside my chest.

It's fine. It's just drawings. You can make more.

Except I couldn't. Not here. Not anymore. Not when every hour had to go toward survival instead of creation.

By evening, nearly everything was sold. Strangers who'd never know what each piece cost me, not in money, but in hope. In the belief that maybe, somehow, my art could save us.

I counted the money. Recounted it. It still wasn't enough for everything, but it would cover the surgery and most of the debts.

One drawing remained. A portrait of my father from five years ago, before the illness, before the bankruptcy, before everything fell apart. He was smiling in it. Really smiling. The kind of smile I hadn't seen on his face in so long I'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

A buyer had offered double my asking price. Someone who collected "emotionally resonant portraiture," whatever that meant.

My finger hovered over the accept button.

I could keep it. Use it to remember him as he was. As he should be.

But he needed a surgeon more than I needed a memory.

I hit "accept " and closed my laptop before I could change my mind.

With heavy steps, I dragged myself to the hospital.

I sat across from a woman whose sympathetic expression had probably been practiced in a mirror. She slid papers across the desk;payment plans, insurance claims, financial assistance applications I'd already been denied.

"The surgery is scheduled for Friday," she said gently. "We'll need payment in full by Thursday."

I pulled out my phone and showed her the bank transfer. Every cent from the art sales, sitting in my account like a countdown timer to zero.

"This covers it," I said. My voice sounded hollow.

She nodded, typing something into her computer. "What about his follow-up after care for three months?"

I don't know. I'll figure it out. I have to.

"I'll manage," I said instead.

After the billing office, I went to the bank. Paid off what I could of the credit card debt my stepmother had left in my name. Settled the final utility bills from the house I'd been evicted from. By the time I finished, my account balance read: $127.43.

One hundred twenty-seven dollars to start a new life.

I sat in my car in the bank parking lot and let myself cry for exactly five minutes. Then I wiped my face, started the engine, and drove to the hospital.

My father looked smaller in the hospital bed than I remembered. Grayer. More fragile. Like he might disappear if I looked away too long. But he was alive. And Friday's surgery would keep him that way.

"Mia." His voice was rough but warm. He always said my name like it was something precious. "You didn't have to come. Visiting hours are almost over."

"I wanted to see you before the surgery." I pulled a chair close and took his hand. It felt too thin and too fragile. "Everything's paid for. You don't have to worry."

His eyes, still sharp despite everything, studied my face. "How much did it cost you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Mia"

"Dad." I squeezed his hand gently. "It doesn't matter. You're going to be fine. That's all that matters."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Your art. You sold your art."

It wasn't a question.

I couldn't lie to him. "Yes."

"Oh, sweetheart." His voice cracked, and I saw tears gather in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I'm so"

"Stop." I leaned forward, fighting my own tears. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. You've given me everything my whole life. Let me give this back."

"But your dreams"

"My dream is you being healthy and alive. Everything else is secondary."

He pulled me into a weak hug, and I let myself rest my head on his shoulder like I was a child again. Safe and protected. Even though now I was the one doing the protecting.

"After the surgery," I said quietly, "we're leaving."

He pulled back. "Leaving?"

"I found a place. A town called Emberpine, we'd settle in the outskirts. It's smaller, quieter. The cost of living is lower, and there are jobs. I already applied to a few restaurants." I tried to smile. "Fresh start for both of us."

"You'd do that? Uproot your whole life for me?"

I don't have a life left to uproot.

"We'll do it together," I said instead. "New town. New beginning. Just us."

His eyes searched mine, and I saw the guilt there. The weight he carried, thinking he was a burden. But I also saw something else, hope.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay." The surgery took six hours.

I spent every minute in the waiting room, unable to sit still, unable to focus on anything except the clock. Each minute felt like an hour. Each hour like a lifetime.

When the surgeon finally came out, still in his scrubs, I stood so fast I nearly knocked over my chair.

"The surgery went well," he said, and I felt my knees go weak with relief. "He'll need time to recover, but the prognosis is good. He's stable."

I covered my mouth with both hands, choking back a sob.

"Can I see him?"

"He's in recovery now. Give it another hour, then you can sit with him."

I nodded, unable to speak, and the surgeon patted my shoulder before walking away.

One hour. Then I could see for myself that he was okay.

I sank back into the chair and finally, finally let myself breathe.

Three weeks later, my father was cleared for travel.

He was still weak, still recovering, but stable enough to leave. I'd already packed everything we owned, which wasn't much. Two suitcases and a box of his medications. The life we'd had here was gone. But we were still here. Still together.

I helped him into the passenger seat of the car I'd barely managed to keep from being repossessed. He moved slowly, carefully, one hand pressed to his side where the incision was still healing.

"Are you okay?" I asked, adjusting his seat belt.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Stop fussing."

But I saw the exhaustion in his face, the way he leaned heavily against the seat. This trip would tire him. Maybe more than he should be pushed so soon after surgery.

But staying wasn't an option.

I climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"Emberpine," my father said, reading the GPS destination. "Never heard of it."

"Neither had I until last month." I pulled onto the road, heading toward the highway. "But it will be our new beginning now."

He reached over and squeezed my hand. "Thank you, Mia. For everything."

I squeezed back, throat too tight to answer.

The drive took four hours.

My father slept most of the way, his head resting against the window, his breathing steady. I glanced over every few minutes just to make sure he was okay. That his chest was still rising and falling. That I hadn't lost him.

The landscape changed slowly, the city giving way to suburbs, suburbs to small towns, small towns to forests and open spaces. It felt like driving away from everything I'd known into something completely unknown. But also... freeing.

No one in Emberpine knew me. Knew about Zach, or the divorce, or how thoroughly I'd been used and discarded. No one knew I'd failed at everything I'd tried.

I could be anyone there.

Or maybe, finally, I could just be myself.

The outskirts appeared just as the sun was setting, a small town tucked between hills and trees, the kind of place that probably looked the same as it had fifty years ago.

Quiet. A little worn around the edges. Perfect.

I followed the GPS to the apartment I'd rented sight-unseen, a small two-bedroom on the outskirts of town. The building was old, the paint peeling in places, but it was clean and affordable and ours.

"We're here, Dad," I said softly, touching his shoulder.

He stirred, blinking awake. "Already?"

"Already."

I helped him out of the car, moving slowly up the stairs to the second floor. He had to stop twice to catch his breath, and each pause made my chest ache with worry.

But we made it.

Inside, the apartment was bare and small. Two bedrooms, a cramped kitchen, a living room with worn carpet.

But the windows let in golden evening light, and when I looked outside, I could see trees and sky instead of concrete and traffic.

It was enough.

"Your room's the bigger one," I told my father, guiding him down the short hallway. I'd already arranged for a bed to be delivered, along with a few pieces of basic furniture. "Get some rest. I'll make us something to eat."

He sank onto the bed with a grateful sigh. "You're a good daughter, Mia. Better than I deserve."

"Stop," I said, pulling a blanket over him. "Rest."

He was asleep before I even left the room.

I stood in my own room, barely big enough for a twin bed and a dresser, and stared out the window at the unfamiliar town below.

One hundred twenty-seven dollars had dwindled to thirty-eight after gas and groceries. I have a job interview at a restaurant tomorrow. If I got it, we'd be okay. We'd survive.

If I didn't...

We'll figure it out. We always do.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.

"Fresh start," I whispered to myself. To the universe. To whatever was listening. "Please let this be a fresh start."

Outside, the sun dipped below the hills, and Emberpine settled into twilight.