Khloe POV
The morning sun poured gently through the thin curtains of Khloe's tiny room, casting golden streaks across her plain white walls. The distant hum of traffic in New York City echoed softly in the background — cars honking, people shouting, the world already alive.
Khloe stirred under her blanket, her body aching from exhaustion. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and letting out a quiet yawn. Another day, she whispered to herself. Another shift. Her head throbbed lightly, a reminder of the double shifts she'd pulled all week at the five-star hotel downtown.
Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled toward the narrow bathroom. Her tiny apartment was barely enough for one, but she'd made it her own — a string of fairy lights above her mirror, a stack of nursing textbooks on the desk, and a little picture of her and Mercy, her younger sister, taped to the wall. That photo always made her smile. Mercy's smile was the only thing that gave her strength to keep going.
She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair into a neat ponytail, applying a touch of lip balm, and slipping into her neatly pressed uniform. As she fastened the last button, she glanced out the window and took a deep breath. The sun bathed the street below in soft amber light, and for a moment — just a second — she felt peace.
"What a lovely morning," Khloe said softly to herself, smiling.
Just then, her phone buzzed. The ringtone snapped her out of her calm moment.
Dad.
Her smile vanished.
With trembling fingers, she answered the call.
"Hello… Dad?"
His voice shot through the line like an icicle.
"Where's the money, Khloe?"
She swallowed. "Dad, I—I don't have it right now. My tuition fees are still unpaid, and I barely have enough to eat—"
"I didn't ask for excuses!" he snapped. "I need that money by tomorrow. Or else…"
She could feel the cold hatred in his tone — it wasn't just anger, it was something deeper. Something cruel.
"Dad, please. I'm doing all I can. I'm juggling work and school—I even skipped meals to send you money last month."
Silence. Then his next words stabbed her in the chest.
"If I don't get that money… Mercy's going to start working at that club. And don't think I'm bluffing."
Her knees buckled.
"No! Dad, please—don't drag her into this. She's just a kid—she's seventeen!"
But he'd already hung up.
The phone slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor.
Khloe sank to her knees, her body trembling. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and her chest tightened with helplessness. The world outside moved on — New York's streets still buzzed, the sunlight still shone — but inside her heart, everything was breaking.
She cried. For Mercy. For herself. For the love she never received from the man who was supposed to protect her.
Why does it always have to be me? she thought. Why can't I just be free?
But even as she broke down on the floor, she knew she had to get up. She had work. She had school. And more importantly…
She had Mercy.