The kettle hissed on the stove, the sound sharp in the cramped kitchen. I stood barefoot on the linoleum, rocking Zoey on my hip while she clutched a ragdoll. The twins were squabbling over a deck of bent playing cards, and Teddy was drinking milk at the fridge while holding it open.
Then the front door slammed, and Mum's voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"Can you believe it? Those people up at the big houses think they can lord it over everyone — again!" She marched into the kitchen, her hair slipping from its clip, her eyes flashing the way they always did before a storm.
"What happened?" I asked carefully, even though I knew better than to poke at her mood.
Mum flung a stack of junk mail onto the table. "Some fancy invitation went out. A bonfire by the lake, hosted by Mrs. Whitmore herself. She wants to parade around in silk skirts while the rest of us pretend we're enjoying it." Her lip curled. "They'll never see us as anything more than the help. Not me, not your father. Not you."
My heart stuttered in my chest. A bonfire. By the lake. My lake. Our lake.
I said nothing, adjusting Zoey as she squirmed. Mum was pacing now, her anger turning sharp, brittle. "And your dad will be expected to bow his head, serve them drinks, and smile while they look down their noses. Do you know what that does to a man?" Her voice cracked, just once, before hardening again. "Pathetic, that's what it is!"
The twins had gone quiet. Zoey clung to my skirt, wide-eyed. I knew what came next — the shouting would get worse, the sharp words would be aimed at us instead of them.
So my siblings and I all slipped out as soon as we could. With Zoey on my hip, her small fingers twined in my hair, I stepped into the late afternoon sun.
The woods called to me. The only place where the weight lifted, where the air felt clean.
But even as the path opened up before me, a new heaviness crept in. A bonfire by the lake meant worlds colliding. Crowds. Faces. Expectations. And Tommy —standing in the middle of all of it, shining in a life that wasn't mine.
I pulled Zoey closer and whispered, "Come on, little bird. Let's find somewhere quiet before the world gets too loud."
Tommy was already waiting in the clearing, leaning back against the log, sunlight catching in his hair like it belonged there.
The sight of him made something warm press against my ribs, even as the knot in my stomach tightened. I didn't know how to hold both things at once — the way he made me feel lighter, and the way life seemed determined to remind me I didn't belong in his world.
He looked up when I stepped into the clearing, his face breaking into that slow, smile that always made my knees feel unsteady.
"You made it," he said, as though he hadn't been sure I would.
I settled onto the grass, Zoey curled against me like a shield. "Of course I did."
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the lake breathe and the trees whisper. Usually, that quiet felt safe with him. Today, though, it pressed in too close, filled with the echo of my mum's voice, sharp and bitter.
Tommy stretched his legs out, picking at a blade of grass.
"It's strange. Back in the city, everything feels rushed. Like everyone is racing towards something, no one takes a minute to just live. Here…" He shrugged, glancing at me. "Here it feels like I can actually breathe."
I swallowed, unsure how to answer. He didn't realise that this — the lake, the woods, the patch of grass beneath us — was all I had. That when he left at the end of summer, he'd go back to bright lights and choices and a future that had already been handed to him, while I'd stay behind, in a house that was falling apart in more ways than one.
"That must be nice," I said quietly, stroking Zoey's hair. My voice came out flatter than I meant, the weight of my mum's words and dad's news dragging it down.
He noticed — of course he did. His smile faltered. He shifted closer, his brow creasing the way it always did when he was thinking too hard.
"Emma…" he started, then stopped. His eyes searched mine, careful, uncertain, like he was trying to find the right words.
The woods seemed to hold their breath with me.
Tommy's eyes didn't let me hide. They were too steady, too soft, like they could peel back the layers I'd spent years building just to survive.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said too quickly, brushing a curl of Zoey's hair from her face, "I should probably get her home before —"
"Emma." His voice was quiet but firm, a kind of gentleness that didn't let me wriggle away. "You've been different since you got here. Tell me."
My throat tightened. I picked at the hem of my shorts, tried to laugh it off. "It's silly. Just… house stuff. Chores, you know. Mum yelling, dishes piling up — same old story."
But he didn't smile. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching me in that way that made it impossible to pretend. "It's not nothing. I can see it."
I looked down, heat prickling at the corners of my eyes. My first instinct was to lock it all away like I always did. Don't show weakness. Don't give anyone a reason to walk away.
But Tommy wasn't walking away. He was just sitting there, waiting, like the world could hold still until I spoke.
The words slipped out before I could stop them. "My dad's losing his job."
Silence stretched between us, heavy as stone. I swallowed hard. "By the end of summer, he'll be finished. And when that happens, we'll have to move. Leave the lake." My voice cracked, and I bit my lip to stop it from shaking.
Finally, I looked up. Tommy's expression wasn't pity — I couldn't have borne that — but something steadier, like he was weighing the truth and folding it carefully into himself.
"Emma…" His brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
I shrugged, blinking fast. "It's not like anyone does. Dad's trying to be brave, Mum's furious, and the rest of us — well, we're just supposed to carry on, like normal. But nothing feels normal."
Zoey stirred in my lap, her tiny fist curling around my finger, and I clutched it like a lifeline.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. The lake lapped gently against the shore, the woods buzzing with insects. And then, softly, Tommy said, "You don't have to carry all of that alone, you know."
My chest ached at his words, because I wanted to believe him. But I wasn't sure I could.