Chapter 2
1588 Words
(SOPHIA POV)
The suspense was now so suffocating.
I could feel the force of her stare moving from one face to the next, assessing us, dissecting us.
My palms were clammy,
I dared not look up, but I could sense her gaze remain on me for a moment longer before going over the other two girls.
It did not take long before her gaze returned to me again.
“Why didn’t any of you help me with the door?”
We gasped at once and again started speaking at the same time.
Our words tumbling over each other in a nervous mess of excuses.
I stammered about something that even I did not understand, while the other two girls blurted out fragmented explanations.
“Enough!”
Mrs. Hart barked,
The suddenness of her command made my stomach twist.
She pointed directly at me, her eyes narrowing.
“You. Explain.”
My head throbbed instantly, an ache that felt like my head was being drilled from behind.
The other girls took her distraction as their cue to start slipping away, quietly shuffling toward the door.
I envied their retreat, but there was no escape for me.
I scratched my chin, pretending to be deep in thought,
What could I possibly say to placate her? No excuse ever satisfied her. It was like trying to fill a bottomless pit.
Finally, an idea struck. My hands moved animatedly as I started to explain, layering my words with just enough earnestness to sound genuine.
“It was an argument about the rooster ma. They were talking so loudly so we didn't hear you knocking”
I could see her lips tighten, her brow arching slightly, as though accessing the validity of my story.
She didn’t say a word.
Instead, she let out a soft, scornful huff.
Without warning, she turned, grabbed something off the table…God knows what…and stormed out of the room.
Again she slammed the door on my face.
The breath I had been holding for the last few minutes escaped in a whoosh.
My hand flew to my chest as though to steady my excessive breathing.
I didn’t dare wait another second, though.
Time was slipping away, and there was work to be done.
I spun around and rushed to the corner of the room where I had hidden the dress.
My hands trembled slightly as I pulled it out,
I inspected it, my eyes examining every seam, every detail.
I glanced at the clock on the wall.
Three hours. That’s all I had left before the customer came back.
“Three hours. Just enough time to make this right.”
With one last look at the dress, my mind shifted into focus.
There was no room for error now.
In the afternoon The nearby cafeteria buzzed.
The walls were painted a muted cream, dotted with faded posters advertising local events,
I sat at a corner table near the window, the only spot that gave me a semblance of peace.
My tray held a modest lunch: a bowl of vegetable soup and a slice of buttered bread, paired with a small cup of coffee.
I was halfway through my meal, when I heard the sound of my phone vibrating against the table.
I reached for the device, peering into the lit up screen, and my stomach dropped when I saw the caller ID: it was Mom.
I answered on the second ring, pressing the phone tightly to my ear.
“Hello, Mom,”
I greeted.
“Sophia…” Her voice was faint, her exhaustion evident..
“The homeowner did a lot today… what you saw this morning before work, it graduated to worse.”
Her words tumbled out in a rush, as if they were burning her tongue.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my appetite vanishing.
“And your father and I… we’re just trying to keep up,. Let’s not even talk about your brother…”
A soft sob escaped her.
“His health isn’t improving, and we need money for his treatment.”
I inhaled fighting to keep my composure
“I’ll figure something out, Mom,”
I promised, my voice steady despite the panic swelling inside me.
“Even if I have to borrow, I’ll find a way to sort things.”
Her response was a broken “Thank you,” and after a few more murmured reassurances, I hung up,
Staring at my untouched soup, feeling lost and helpless.
By the end of the day, I had managed to mend the customer’s dress the one torn during the fight that morning.
The stitches were neat, the fabric smoothed out, and for the first time all day, I felt a little hint of accomplishment.
It was the only thing that had gone right all day
The store had emptied hours ago.
My boss and the other girls had left long before, but I stayed behind to tidy up.
I folded the leftover fabrics, swept the floor, and arranged the tools on the counter.
When I was done, I grabbed my bag, double-checked the locks, and stepped out into the calm evening.
The streets had quieted, most stores already closed,
A taxi idled a few meters away, the middle aged man leaning against the hood, scrolling through his phone. I approached, pulling my jacket tighter against the evening chill.
"Good evening,"
The driver barely glanced up, nodding toward the back seat. "Where to?"
I slid in, shutting the door with a soft thud.
"Westbrook Avenue. Near the old community center."
He hummed in acknowledgment, adjusting the rearview mirror before pulling away.
I leaned back, my head resting against the seat, my mind still tangled in the events of the day.
"You look like you’ve had one hell of a day," the driver commented after a few minutes. His voice was rough, but not unkind.
He chuckled and added. "Long shift?"
"Something like that."
He nodded knowingly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
"Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix, right?"
I gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. "Yeah. Hopefully."
The ride continued in silence after that, save for the occasional honk of a passing car or the murmur of the radio playing some old blues song. I watched the city blur by.
As I handed the driver his money and stepped out, the familiar sight of my neighborhood greeted me, compact houses lined up like dominoes.
The Laundry of the neighbors arranged lazily on lines stretched between windows,
and the smell of frying oil wafted from a kitchen in the distance
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder, walking briskly toward the small house we rented.
But as I got closer, something caught my attention.
It was a conspicuous paper, taped crookedly to our front wall. Something bold was written on it.
I frowned, stepping closer to read it.
“NOTICE OF EVICTION”
The words hit me like a slap.
My lips parted, and I whispered the text aloud, my voice trembling as I mouthed the rest of sentence.
“Failure to vacate… legal action…”
My heart pounded as I stepped back, shaking my head.
“No… no…”
The sound of the front door opening, pulled me from my thoughts.
It was my mother she was standing there with her frail frame silhouetted against the dim light inside.
“Sophie,” she called softly, stepping toward me.
When she reached, she placed a hand on my shoulder.
“This is how bad it’s gotten,” she murmured.
“Your father went to see if he could get help… and your brother…” Her voice broke, but she quickly composed herself
“James is still the same.”
I swallowed hard, my eyes stinging
. “I’ll fix it, Mom,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow.
She patted my back, gently tugging my arm.
“Come inside. Have your bath. There’s food on the table. Life is hard, but we must eat.”
I moved toward the tiny bathroom at the end of the hallway, taking off my clothes with sluggish movements.
The cold tiles was cool as I stepped in, twisting the knob. A moment later, lukewarm water streamed down, hitting my skin like regulated rain.
I sighed, letting my head fall forward, my palms braced against the wall.
I ran my fingers through my damp hair, pushing it back as the last of the fatigue began to settle in. After a few more minutes, I turned off the tap, reaching for the towel hanging on the rack.
That night, exhaustion claimed me the moment I lay down.
My dreams, however, were vivid.
A memory from years ago unfolded before me.
I was back at the lake behind the grand house we once lived in over a decade ago, standing on the dock, my reflection rippling in the water.
A boy was flailing in the depths, his cries merging with the waves.
Without hesitation, I jumped in, the cold water stealing my breath.
My hands reached for him, pulling him to safety.
The boy’s face was blurred, but his gratitude was clear. His eyes… there was something about his eyes.
When I woke, it was with a calmness.
The memory was so clear, so real, as if I had relived it.
I stared at the ceiling, puzzled by the vividness of it all.
That boy… I wondered if he remembered me. If, by some twist of fate, we would ever meet again. Would he know who I was?
- Writer
