Between Love And Lies

HUNGER AND HARDSHIP

THREE.

Joy's hand hovered inches from the door handle, her fingers trembling. The house was silent except for Ella's shallow breathing behind her and the loud, frantic pounding of her own heart.

"Who is it?" Joy asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.

There was a pause. Then the man spoke again, calmer now, almost rehearsed.

"My name is Mr. Daniels. I'm here on behalf of the family."

Joy's stomach twisted. Family. That word had begun to sound like a threat.

She unlatched the door slowly. A tall man stood outside, dressed neatly despite the late hour. His eyes scanned the house briefly before settling back on her. Behind him, a car idled, its headlights cutting through the darkness like a warning.

"It's very late," Joy said. "Ella is sleeping."

Mr. Daniels nodded. "This won't take long. But it's important."

Joy stepped outside and closed the door softly behind her.

"You're aware," he began, "that several relatives have raised concerns about your ability to care for your sister."

Joy stiffened. "I'm doing everything I can."

"I'm sure you believe that," he replied, his tone unreadable. "But belief isn't enough. There are legal matters to consider. Guardianship. Welfare."

Joy felt the ground shift beneath her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he continued, "that a formal review has been requested. If it's determined that Ella is not in a stable environment, she may be placed elsewhere."

"No," Joy whispered. "You can't take her."

Mr. Daniels met her gaze. "I'm not here to take her tonight. I'm here to warn you."

He handed her a folded document. The paper felt heavy, as though it carried the weight of her worst fear.

"You have two weeks," he said. "Two weeks to prove you can provide food, schooling, and a safe home. Or Ella will be moved."

Joy's vision blurred. "Moved... where?"

He hesitated, just briefly. "To Uncle Peter's house."

The name landed like a blow.

She already knew what her response would be. NO.

---

The morning sun crept lazily into the small, quiet house, illuminating the scattered remnants of the previous day's chaos. Joy sat at the worn kitchen table, rubbing her eyes, trying to wake her aching body. Her hands were still sore from hauling firewood and washing dishes the day before. Ella was quietly eating a small breakfast, humming softly to herself, unaware of the depths of suffering Joy felt.

Joy forced a smile. "Eat quickly, Ella. You need energy for school," she said, though her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Ella looked up, grinning. "I will, Joy. Don't worry."

Joy wanted to tell her not to worry. But she had learned quickly that a child's trust was fragile, and panic could destroy it. Instead, she nodded silently, finishing her own meager breakfast, barely tasting the food. Hunger had become a constant companion.

---

The day ahead promised nothing but struggle. Joy had decided to find work again, knowing that the small savings left by her parents would run out in days. She brushed her hair quickly, tightened the worn straps of her bag, and stepped outside. The streets were already busy with merchants opening their shops and children heading to school.

Her first stop was a small bakery at the corner. Joy had seen a notice for work there the day before. She took a deep breath, smoothing her wrinkled blouse. "Excuse me, sir... I saw your sign. Do you... do you need help?"

The man behind the counter barely looked up. "You? Too young. Go home. This is for serious workers, not children playing dress-up."

Joy's face flushed. "I... I'm seventeen. I can work hard. Please, I'll do anything."

The man snorted. "Anything? Then start by sweeping. And if you break a plate, don't come back."

Joy nodded eagerly, relief flooding her for a moment. She could do anything. Anything to keep food on Ella's plate.

But within an hour, the relief turned to despair. The work was grueling..kneeling to scrub floors, carrying sacks of flour, dodging the hot oven flames. She was exhausted before noon. When she asked for a short break to drink water, the man yelled at her.

"You think you're the first orphan I've hired? Sit down and finish!"

Joy bit her lip, not daring to argue. She felt her body shaking with exhaustion. By the time the bakery closed, her hands were blistered, and her stomach growled with hunger. The small pay she earned was barely enough to buy two days of food.

---

Next, she went from shop to shop, market to market. At each place, she faced rejection.

At a clothing stall, the owner waved her away. "Too weak. I don't have time to train someone like you. Try somewhere else."

At a small café, a man sneered at her. "You? Alone? Don't you have an older brother or sister to send? We don't hire children."

Even the charity centers offered little comfort. "We can give food for the day," a volunteer said kindly, "but jobs... those go to adults."

Joy's chest tightened with frustration. Each rejection felt like a physical blow, each dismissal a confirmation that she was alone in a world that offered no mercy.

---

By late afternoon, she returned home, her feet sore, her back aching. Ella ran to her, excited to show the small flower she had picked on her way from school. Joy knelt, forcing a smile. "That's beautiful, Ella," she said softly.

But inside, she felt like crying. She was hungry, exhausted, and overwhelmed. The small victories of caring for Ella felt meaningless against the vast, unyielding challenge of survival.

That night, as she laid Ella down to sleep, Joy's thoughts grew darker. She replayed the day over and over, faces of people who had rejected her, shouted at her, or treated her with disdain. The world seemed cruel, unjust, and impossible.

She knelt by her sister's bed, brushing the hair from Ella's forehead. "I'll find a way," she whispered. "I have to... I promised."

---

The following days were no kinder. Each morning, Joy woke to a familiar routine: feed Ella, check for work opportunities, face rejection, return exhausted.

One morning, she noticed a small advertisement pinned to a wall near the market: "Help Wanted. General Labor. Apply within." Her heart lifted for the first time in days. She ran to the address, arriving at a dusty warehouse where men were unloading sacks of grain.

"Are you the new worker?" a burly man asked, squinting at her.

"Yes, sir," Joy said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Too small. Too weak. Go home," he barked.

Joy's face flushed with anger. "I can carry more than you think. Please, just give me a chance!"

The man laughed. "Chance? You? Ha! Step aside, girl, or get out before I call the police."

Joy felt the sting of humiliation. She stepped away silently, swallowing the tears that burned her eyes. Each rejection was a lesson, but a painful one.

---

By the evening, she was sitting on the steps of a small shop, hugging her knees. The city's noise hummed around her, indifferent to her suffering. She had no money, no food for herself beyond the scraps she could scrape together, and no one to guide her. She thought briefly of running away again, leaving the responsibilities behind, if only to breathe.

But then she thought of Ella. Her little sister, waiting for her, trusting her completely. She could not abandon her. She could not.

Joy's resolve hardened. She would endure. She would survive. And she would find a way to provide for Ella, no matter the obstacles.

But what if she doesn't survive it?

---