ONLY YOU

CHAPTER 002

The smell of warm bread filled our small kitchen, but I could hardly enjoy it.

I stood beside the stove, watching the eggs cook in a pan. My eyes kept moving toward the pile of bills on the counter.

Electricity.

Water.

Groceries.

Hospital expenses.

Every paper seemed to be asking me for money I didn't have.

I turned down the heat and reached for a plate.

"Emily, are you burning something?"

I looked over my shoulder.

My father was sitting at the kitchen table, holding an old newspaper. His glasses rested low on his nose, and his grey hair looked as if he had forgotten to comb it.

"No, Dad. I'm cooking."

"Then why does it smell like something is dying?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Good morning to you too."

He lowered the newspaper and smiled.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

I placed the eggs on a plate and carried them to the table.

"Here. Eat before it gets cold."

Michael Banks looked at the food, then at me.

"Have you eaten?"

"Dad."

"What?"

"You ask me that every morning."

"Because you never answer."

I pulled out a chair and sat across from him.

"Yes, I've eaten."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you staring at my plate?"

I laughed softly.

"Because I made it, and I want to know if it tastes good."

He picked up his fork.

"Ah. So that's what this is about."

"Exactly."

He took a bite and nodded.

"Not bad."

"Not bad?"

"All right. It's good."

"Thank you."

I smiled, but the smile didn't last long.

My eyes moved toward the white envelope beside his cup.

The hospital's name was printed across the front.

I knew what it was.

Another bill.

I had seen too many of them to pretend otherwise.

I reached for my glass of water.

"Dad, did the hospital call yesterday?"

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

"Why?"

"Because I saw the envelope."

He glanced at it, then quickly moved the newspaper over it.

"It's nothing you need to worry about."

I stared at him.

"How can it be nothing?"

"Emily, eat your breakfast."

"I asked you a question."

"And I answered you."

"No, you didn't."

He placed his fork down.

"Your brother is doing better. That's what matters right now."

"That's not what I asked."

Michael sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"There's a payment due. I'll speak to the hospital."

"When?"

"Soon."

I leaned back in my chair.

"Dad, you've been saying soon for weeks."

"I said I'll handle it."

"And I'm telling you that you don't have to handle everything alone!"

My voice came out louder than I expected.

He looked at me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he reached across the table and touched my hand.

"I know you're trying to help, sweetheart."

"Then let me."

"You have enough on your shoulders."

I pulled my hand away gently.

"No, I don't. I have a degree, I have work experience, and I can do more than sit here watching you pretend everything is fine."

His face changed.

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

I looked down at the table.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Your father is doing his best."

"I know, Dad."

"Then don't talk as if I've given up."

I swallowed.

"I don't think you've given up. I'm just scared."

His eyes softened.

"Scared of what?"

I looked at the envelope again.

"Of what happens when we run out of money."

He didn't answer.

That silence hurt more than any argument.

My phone vibrated on the table.

I picked it up and checked the screen.

It was an email from a company I had applied to three days earlier.

My heart jumped.

"What's that?" Dad asked.

"An email."

"Good news?"

I opened it.

My eyes moved quickly across the screen.

Then my shoulders dropped.

Another rejection.

Thank you for your interest. After reviewing your application, we have decided to move forward with another candidate.

I locked my phone.

"Not this time."

Michael watched me.

"I'm sorry."

I forced a smile.

"It's fine."

"Emily."

"What?"

"You don't have to pretend with me."

I let out a breath.

"I know."

He reached for his cup.

"You'll find something."

"I've been trying."

"I know you have."

"I've sent applications to so many places. Some don't even reply. Others offer a salary that wouldn't cover Noah's transport to the hospital."

"Don't lose hope."

I looked at him.

"It's hard not to."

He gave me a small smile.

"Your mother used to say that you were the most stubborn girl she had ever met."

I laughed quietly.

"She wasn't wrong."

"No. She wasn't."

For a moment, the kitchen felt warmer.

I missed those days.

I missed hearing Mum laugh in the living room. I missed the way she used to sing while cooking. I even missed how she would complain whenever Dad left his shoes near the door.

After she died, the house changed.

We tried to keep going, but some days felt heavier than others.

Then Noah became ill.

And life became a fight we couldn't afford to lose.

I looked toward the hallway.

"Has Noah woken up?"

"Not yet."

"Did he sleep well?"

"Not really. He was awake a few times during the night."

I stood up at once.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you needed sleep."

"Dad!"

"He said he was fine."

I picked up my phone.

"I'm going to check on him."

Michael nodded.

"Take him something to eat if he wants."

"I will."

I left the kitchen and walked down the short hallway.

The door to Noah's room was slightly open.

I knocked twice.

"Noah?"

A tired voice answered.

"Come in, boss lady."

I pushed the door open.

My little brother was lying on his bed with a pillow behind his head. His dark hair was messy, and his face looked pale.

A glass of water stood on the bedside table beside his medicine.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

He opened one eye.

"Is it morning already?"

"Unless the clock is lying."

He groaned.

"Tell the clock to mind its business."

I laughed and sat on the edge of his bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I got into a fight with a truck."

My smile faded a little.

"Seriously, Noah."

He looked at me.

"I'm okay, Em."

"Did you sleep?"

"Some."

"Some isn't an answer."

"Fine. I slept for a little while, woke up, watched videos, slept again, and then woke up because Dad was making noise in the kitchen."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Dad, was Dad making noise?"

"Yes. I think he was trying to kill a fly."

I covered my mouth to hide my laugh.

"That sounds like him."

Noah smiled.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs and bread."

"Did you make them?"

"Who else?"

He looked at me with a serious face.

"Then I need to think about it."

I pushed his shoulder lightly.

"You're lucky, I love you."

"That's what I keep telling myself."

I picked up the glass and handed it to him.

"Drink some water."

He took it.

"Yes, ma'am."

After drinking, he placed it back on the table.

"Did you get any good news today?"

I looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because you look like someone stole your favorite shoes."

I sighed.

"Another job rejection."

His smile disappeared.

"Oh."

"It's fine. I'll keep trying."

He looked down at his hands.

"Em, you don't have to do all this because of me."

My chest tightened.

"Don't start."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"You have already spent all your time looking for work. You hardly go anywhere. You don't even meet your friends anymore."

I reached for his hand.

"Noah, listen to me. You are not a problem I need to solve."

"But the bills—"

"It's not your fault."

He looked away.

I moved closer.

"Look at me."

He slowly turned his face toward me.

"You hear me? None of this is your fault."

His eyes became wet.

"I just want things to go back to normal."

I squeezed his hand.

"So do I."

"Sometimes I feel bad when Dad and you argue about money."

I shook my head.

"We don't argue because of you. We argue because we both want you to get better."

He gave a weak smile.

"You're always telling me what to do."

"That's because you're my little brother."

"I'm not that little."

"You'll always be little to me."

He rolled his eyes.

"That's unfair."

I laughed and brushed his hair away from his forehead.

"Try to eat something. I'll bring your breakfast."

"Can you bring extra bread?"

"Of course."

"And maybe juice?"

"Don't push your luck."

He laughed.

For a few seconds, everything felt normal.

Then he coughed.

I watched him carefully.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

I nodded, but my stomach tightened.

I hated seeing him like this.

Noah used to run around the house, play football with the boys outside, and come home asking for more food. Now, some mornings, walking from his bed to the bathroom was enough to make him tired.

I stood up.

"Get some rest. I'll be back."

"Okay, Em."

I reached the door.

"Emily?"

I turned.

"Yes?"

He gave me a small smile.

"Don't forget to eat too."

I smiled back.

"I won't."

But we both knew I probably would.

When I returned to the kitchen, Dad was washing his cup.

He looked up as I entered.

"How is he?"

"Tired. He says he wants breakfast."

"I'll take it to him."

"I can do that."

He turned off the tap.

"Emily, sit down for a moment."

I looked at him.

"Why?"

"Just sit."

I pulled out a chair.

He dried his hands with a towel and sat across from me.

For a few seconds, he looked at the table without speaking.

Then he said, "I spoke to the hospital."

I straightened.

"And?"

"They've given us some time."

"How much time?"

He rubbed his palms together.

"Not much."

My heart started beating faster.

"Dad, how much?"

He looked at me.

"They need another payment before Noah's next treatment."

"How much are we talking about?"

He told me the amount.

I stared at him.

It was more than I expected.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

"That's why I didn't want you to worry," he said.

I let out a shaky breath.

"How are we going to pay it?"

"I'll find a way."

"With what money?"

"Emily"

"No, Dad. Please don't say that again. I need to know."

He looked tired.

"I have some savings left."

"How much?"

"Enough to help."

"Enough for the full payment?"

He didn't answer.

I shook my head.

"That's what I thought."

He reached for my hand.

"Listen to me. I don't want you to throw your whole life away because of this family."

I pulled my hand back.

"I'm not throwing anything away."

"You are twenty-four. You should be building your future. You should be enjoying your life."

"What kind of future am I supposed to enjoy when Noah is sick and you're struggling?"

His eyes filled with sadness.

"Your mother would not want you to live like this."

I looked away.

"Please don't bring Mum into this."

"She would want you to be happy."

"Then she would want Noah to be healthy too."

He lowered his head.

I felt bad for raising my voice, but I couldn't take it back.

I moved closer and held his hand.

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head.

"No. You're right to be upset."

"I just need a better job, Dad. Something stable. Something that pays enough for me to help."

"You've been applying."

"And I'll keep applying."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"There's something I want to tell you."

I waited.

"An old friend of mine runs a company in Manhattan."

I frowned.

"An old friend?"

"Yes."

"Do I know him?"

"You met him when you were much younger."

I tried to remember.

"What's his name?"

He hesitated.

"Jack Anderson."

The name meant nothing to me at first.

"Jack Anderson?"

"Yes. He's the CEO of Sterling Entertainment Group."

I leaned back.

"I think I've seen that company name online."

"Probably."

"Is he the friend you used to work with?"

Michael nodded.

"Years ago, we were partners in business."

"Why have you never told me much about him?"

My father looked out of the window.

"Some things are better left in the past."

I studied his face.

There was something strange in the way he said it.

"Dad, did something happen between you two?"

He shook his head.

"Not something you need to worry about."

I wanted to ask more, but he looked so tired that I decided to leave it alone.

For now.

Later that afternoon, I sat at the small table in the living room with my laptop open.

The room was quiet.

Dad had gone out to speak with someone about a few bills, while Noah was resting in his bedroom.

I had placed a notebook beside the laptop.

Inside it were the names of companies I had applied to, the dates I had sent my applications, and the replies I had received.

Most of the pages were filled with crossed-out names.

I rubbed my eyes and opened another job website.

"Come on," I whispered. "Something has to work."

I scrolled through the listings.

Office assistant.

Receptionist.

Customer service worker.

Temporary secretary.

The salaries were either too low or the contracts were too short.

I clicked on one listing, read the details, then closed it.

Another one.

Same problem.

I was about to give up when a new listing caught my attention.

Sterling Entertainment Group.

I sat up.

The company was based in Manhattan, and the job title was personal secretary to the chief executive.

I clicked on it.

The page opened with a short description of the company. It worked in music production, artist management, and media partnerships.

I scrolled down.

The duties included managing appointments, handling calls, preparing documents, arranging meetings, and keeping the chief executive's daily schedule in order.

I read the salary.

Then I read it again.

My mouth fell open.

"Wow."

The pay was higher than anything I had seen in weeks.

I checked the job requirements.

Previous office experience.

Good communication skills.

Strong writing skills.

Ability to work under pressure.

I nodded slowly.

"I can do this."

I have worked in an office before. I knew how to arrange meetings, answer calls, prepare reports, and deal with people.

The only thing that worried me was the pressure.

But I had been dealing with pressure every day.

What could be worse than watching your family struggle while you had no way to help?

I clicked the application button.

A new page appeared.

My name.

My email address.

My phone number.

My education.

My work history.

I began filling in the spaces.

Halfway through, my phone rang.

Sophia Miller.

I answered.

"Hey, girl."

"Emily! Please tell me you've eaten."

I looked at the empty plate beside my laptop.

"Yes."

"Don't lie to me."

I smiled.

"Fine. I haven't."

"I knew it. You need to stop treating yourself like you don't matter."

"I'm working on it."

"Working on what?"

I turned my laptop slightly, even though she couldn't see it.

"I'm applying for another job."

"Which one?"

"Personal secretary at Sterling Entertainment Group."

There was a short silence.

Then Sophia shouted, "Emily! That's a big company!"

I laughed.

"Keep your voice down."

"Sorry. But seriously, have you seen the salary?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's good."

"Good? Girl, that's more than good!"

I smiled, but my eyes returned to the hospital envelope on the table.

"I just hope they consider me."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Because there will be hundreds of people applying."

"So what? You only need one person to choose you."

I leaned back in my chair.

"You're right."

"Of course I'm right. Now finish that application. Don't start talking yourself out of it."

I laughed.

"Okay, boss."

"Good. And when you get the job, you buy me lunch."

"If I get the job."

"When, Emily. When."

We ended the call, and I returned to the application.

I checked every answer before moving to the next page.

Then I attached my CV.

My finger rested above the final button.

For a moment, fear crept into my chest.

What if they rejected me too?

What if I wasn't good enough?

What if I started hoping again, only to end up with another email telling me someone else had been chosen?

I looked toward Noah's bedroom.

I remembered his tired smile.

I remembered Dad hiding the hospital envelope beneath the newspaper.

I remembered the amount the hospital needed.

I couldn't let fear stop me.

"Come on, Emily," I whispered.

Then I clicked.

APPLICATION SUBMITTED.

I stared at the words on the screen.

It wasn't a job offer.

It wasn't a promise.

But it was a chance.

I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

"Please," I whispered. "Let this one work."

My phone buzzed.

I picked it up, expecting another message from Sophia.

Instead, I saw a notification from an unknown number.

I opened it.

There was no greeting.

No explanation.

Only one sentence.

"Your father should have told you what happened between him and Jack Anderson before you applied to Sterling."

My blood ran cold.

I stared at the message, reading it again and again.

Who knew about my application?

And what exactly was my father hiding from me?