Chapter Three
548 Words
The funeral was held four days later.
Brooklyn looked unusually bright that morning.
As if the sun hadn’t gotten the memo that her world had ended.
People came.
Neighbors.
Teachers.
Friends.
Church members.
Colleagues from the hospital.
Students from her father’s school.
Everyone had stories.
Michael Hart helped me pass algebra.
Eleanor once stayed after her shift to comfort my mother.
They were wonderful people.
Amelia heard the words.
But they sounded distant.
Muted.
Like listening underwater.
She stood beside Lucas.
He looked smaller.
Fragile.
Gone was the funny teenager who wanted a robot dog.
Gone was the boy excited about MIT.
He stared at the caskets.
Expressionless.
Empty.
Amelia reached for his hand.
He didn’t move.
“Lucas.”
Nothing.
“Lucas.”
Slowly, he looked at her.
“Did they suffer?”
She swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“I hope they didn’t.”
Then he finally cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly.
Like someone trying not to disturb the dead.
Amelia pulled him into her arms.
And for the first time since receiving the phone call—
She cried too.
Reality arrived two weeks later.
Reality came wearing suits.
Holding folders.
Asking questions.
Mortgage payments.
Insurance claims.
Outstanding debts.
Medical bills.
University tuition.
MIT summer camp.
Electricity.
Food.
Rent.
Life.
Amelia stared at the numbers.
They didn’t make sense.
Her father had been a teacher.
Her mother was a nurse.
They had lived modestly.
Saved carefully.
But there wasn’t enough.
Not enough for Columbia.
Not enough for Lucas.
Not enough for both.
She knew what had to happen.
“No.”
Lucas stood up.
“No.”
“You’re not dropping out.”
Amelia folded her university withdrawal papers.
“I have to.”
“You’ve worked your whole life for this.”
“And Dad worked his whole life for us.”
She smiled weakly.
“I’ll go back someday.”
“When?”
“When things get better.”
“What if they don’t?”
She looked away.
She didn’t have an answer.
Lucas clenched his fists.
“It’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“It should’ve been me.”
Amelia’s expression hardened.
“Don’t ever say that again.”
“But—”
“Lucas.”
She stepped closer.
“Dad wanted you at MIT.”
“Mom wanted Sunday dinners.”
“And I promised.”
“I don’t break promises.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“You promised too much.”
She smiled softly.
“Maybe.”
“But I still mean it.”
Three months later—
Amelia accepted her first housekeeping job.
By then she had learned something painful.
Dreams don’t disappear overnight.
They slowly suffocate.
One unpaid bill at a time.
One rejection email at a time.
One sacrifice at a time.
She packed away her Columbia hoodie.
Her textbooks.
Her notebooks.
Her unfinished software projects.
And the laptop she loved.
She kept only one thing.
A sticky note her father had once placed on her desk.
It read:
People chase money.
Builders chase solutions.
And solutions attract wealth.
Amelia read it every morning.
Every night.
And whenever life felt unbearable.
She whispered the words like prayer.
Because if she stopped believing them—
Then she truly would have lost everything.
- Writer
