CHAPTER 11
1360 Words
I didn’t know where to go.
I didn’t know what to do.
Everything felt like it was falling apart, and I had no way to stop it.
I was broke.
Jobless.
And completely done.
I stared at the cold, wet pavement, my mind spinning with a thousand questions, but no answers.
What was I supposed to do for Mico?
He had never been the same since Dad passed away. He barely spoke, barely even looked people in the eye. His trauma ran deep, and now, here we were—homeless in the rain.
What was I supposed to do for Mom?
She had already lost so much, and now, because of me, she had lost even more.
I didn’t have an answer.
I didn’t even have a plan.
All I knew was we couldn’t stay here.
So, I made a decision.
"Mom, I think it's better to go the chapel."
It wasn’t far—just a short walk down the road. It was an old, abandoned chapel, one that people rarely visited anymore. The roof leaked, and the wooden benches were cracked and broken, but at least it was a shelter.
At least it was somewhere dry.
Mom didn’t say a word—just stood up, held Mico’s hand, and walked.
I followed, carrying whatever belongings we had left, my heart weighing heavier than the soaked bags on my shoulders.
By the time we reached the chapel, my legs felt like jelly, and my fingers were numb from the cold.
The moment we stepped inside, I let out a shaky breath.
It was still the same—dusty, empty, and forgotten. The air smelled of old wood and candle wax, and the faint sound of rain leaked through the broken ceiling.
Mico curled up in a corner, his tiny frame shivering. Mom sat beside him, rubbing his back, but she still wouldn’t look at me.
I swallowed hard.
She was still angry.
I knew that.
I felt that.
And honestly?
I didn’t blame her.
So, instead of talking to her, I turned my attention to Mico.
I kneeled beside him, pulling my jacket tighter around his shoulders.
"Hey, buddy." My voice was soft.
No response.
He just stared at his knees, silent as always.
Ever since Dad passed away, Mico stopped talking.
The doctors said it was trauma—that it might take years for him to speak again, or maybe… he never would.
And now, seeing him like this, drenched, scared, and homeless—what if this made things worse?
I felt a lump in my throat.
"Are you cold?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
Mico nodded slowly.
I gave him a small smile, even though it felt like my heart was breaking.
"Don't worry, little man. I got you."
I pulled out a blanket—one of the few things that hadn’t been completely ruined by the rain—and wrapped it around him.
He clutched it tightly, like it was the only thing keeping him safe.
I glanced at Mom.
She was just sitting there, her face blank, her hands clasped together like she was praying but didn’t know what to say.
I wanted to talk to her.
I wanted to tell her I was sorry.
That I would fix this.
That I would find a way.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
So, instead, I focused on Mico.
I reached into my bag and pulled out something—a small chocolate bar from that stupid company!
Of course, before leaving, I took all my snacks from God sake!
It was wet, a little melted, but it was still chocolate.
I unwrapped it and held it out to him.
"Here. It’s not much, but it’s sweet."
For a moment, he just stared at it.
Then, slowly, he reached out and took it.
My chest ached.
It wasn’t just because he was hungry.
It was because he trusted me.
Even now.
Even after everything.
And for that, I wouldn’t let him down.
I wouldn’t let either of them down.
No matter what.
As we sat on the cold, wooden floor of the old chapel, my stomach growled—a loud, embarrassing reminder that I hadn't eaten much today, or maybe it had already been digested so fast with that full-blown I've given to that landlady!
And then it hit me.
"The steaks!"
In all the chaos, I had completely forgotten about the steaks I snuck out from Tasty Land.
My eyes widened as I grabbed the plastic bag, the faint smell of grilled perfection filling my nose. I peeked inside, and despite the rough journey, the steaks were still intact—a little cold, but still edible and mouth-watering.
"Food," I muttered to myself. "Real food."
I looked at Mom and Mico.
Mom was sitting stiffly against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, her expression unreadable. She hadn’t said a word to me since we left the apartment.
Mico, on the other hand, was huddled under his blanket, still clutching the chocolate bar I gave him earlier.
They were both hungry.
I knew they were.
I could see it in Mom’s tired eyes and in the way Mico’s tiny fingers gripped his stomach.
And here I was, holding a bag full of expensive steaks, paid for by a stranger I never even met.
It felt… unreal.
But I wasn’t going to waste it.
"Mom… Mico… let’s eat."
They both looked up at me.
Mom hesitated, but when I unwrapped the first steak and the smell of grilled meat and butter filled the air, she finally sighed and reached for a piece.
Mico followed, grabbing a smaller portion and nibbling at it carefully.
And just like that, we ate.
It was quiet.
The only sounds were the rain outside, the occasional creak of the chapel’s old wooden beams, and the soft chewing of three tired, defeated souls.
No one spoke.
Not even Mom.
It felt… strange.
Normally, she would ask questions.
She would lecture me.
"Maurice, where did you get this?"
"Maurice, what did you do this time?"
"Maurice, tell me the truth!"
But now?
Nothing.
Not a single word.
She just ate in silence, her movements slow and heavy, as if each bite was more exhausting than the last.
And that hurt more than if she had yelled at me.
Because silence meant one thing.
She was disappointed.
She was tired.
She was giving up on me.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat along with a piece of steak.
I wanted to tell her where I got the food.
I wanted to tell her about the kind stranger who paid for it.
I wanted to tell her that I was sorry.
But I didn’t.
Because deep down… I knew it wouldn’t change anything.
Not right now.
So, I just kept eating, pretending that the silence wasn’t tearing me apart.
Despite the tension, I couldn’t deny it.
The steak was good.
Like, really good.
Even cold, even slightly soggy from the rain, it was still the best thing I had eaten in months.
The juices still melted on my tongue.
The butter and garlic still left a heavenly aftertaste.
The seasoning was perfect—just the right mix of salt, pepper, and whatever magical spices rich people used to make their food taste like happiness.
If this was my last good meal, then damn it, I was going to enjoy it.
I chewed slowly, letting the flavors distract me from the storm in my chest.
Even Mico seemed to enjoy it.
His bites were small and careful, but he was eating.
And that was enough.
At least for now.
I watched as Mom took another slow bite. She closed her eyes for a second, then exhaled deeply, as if the food was the only thing keeping her from breaking down completely.
And that’s when I realized…
This wasn’t just food.
This was comfort.
This was a temporary escape from the hell we were living in.
This was a reminder that life wasn’t completely cruel.
Not yet.
Not always.
And maybe… just maybe…
Tomorrow, we’d find a way to start again.
- Writer
