Dawn knelt on the cold kitchen floor, her hands trembling as she clung to her aunt Peige's apron. Her cracked fingers ached, and her voice wavered as she pleaded.
"I'll stop going to school... but please, help my siblings. Don't take this chance away from them."
Peige's sharp glare cut through her, the air between them thick with disdain. "Do you think feeding, clothing, and housing all of you is easy? I'm not made of money, Dawn."
Dawn's heart pounded in her chest, but she didn't let the tears fall. She couldn't—she had to stay strong. "I'll work to pay you back. Just... just let them finish school. I'll do anything."
Peige huffed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Anything, huh? We'll see about that."
The sharp blare of an alarm clock shattered the scene. Dawn bolted upright, her chest heaving as the suffocating memory faded into the shadows of her mind. She rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the lingering weight of her nightmare. The smell of burnt toast wafted into her room, dragging her fully into reality.
She slid on her worn slippers and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Her siblings were huddled over the toaster, their expressions caught somewhere between guilt and panic. Jason, the older twin, held a plate of charred bread.
"You planning to burn the house down before the New Year?" Dawn teased, though her tired smile softened the scolding.
Jason grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I was trying to make breakfast, but... well, you see the results."
"We thought we'd help," Leslie, the other twin, chimed in, "but clearly, we're not very good at it."
Dawn shook her head, stifling a laugh. "You can practice your culinary experiments next year. For now, leave breakfast to me."
As she opened the fridge to assess their dwindling supplies, she glanced over her shoulder. "Wait, where's Amy?"
"Still sleeping," Jason answered, already inching toward the door.
"I'm heading out with friends!" Leslie announced, grabbing her jacket.
"You mean we're heading out, right?" Jason countered, raising an eyebrow.
"Since when do we do anything together?" Leslie shot back.
"Since I need you to ask for permission for me."
Dawn rolled her eyes, cutting in before the argument could escalate. "You two are twins. Try acting like it."
Leslie smirked. "There's no proof."
"And we don't even look alike," Jason added.
Dawn sighed, pointing a spatula at them. "I wasn't the one mistaken for Jason the other day when you wore a hoodie and jeans, Leslie."
Their bickering faded as she made her way upstairs to check on Amy. The youngest of the siblings was still curled up under her blanket, looking every bit the peaceful dreamer she was. Dawn smiled softly, but before she could rouse her, the doorbell echoed through the house.
She hurried down the stairs, opening the door to face Mr. Harrow, their landlord. His frown was as familiar as it was unwelcome.
"I've been more than patient, Miss Collins," he began, his tone clipped. "It's December, and the overdue rent isn't going to pay itself."
"Just a few more days," Dawn pleaded, gripping the edge of the door. "I promise I'll have it."
"You have two days," Harrow said firmly. "After that, you're out."
He stormed off before Dawn could respond. She closed the door quietly, leaning her forehead against the cool wood as despair weighed heavily on her shoulders. She couldn't let her siblings see her like this.
"Morning, Dawn!"
She turned to see Amy standing at the foot of the stairs, her bright smile breaking through the gloom. Dawn forced herself to return the smile.
"Good morning, love. How was your night?"
"It was awesome," Amy said cheerfully, running over to hug her. "But... why didn't we decorate for New Year? All the neighbors have lights and everything."
Dawn hesitated, her smile faltering for just a moment. "We'll decorate next year, sweetheart," she said gently. "This year, we're keeping things simple."
Amy tilted her head. "Is it because we don't have enough money?"
The bluntness of the question hit Dawn like a punch to the gut. She crouched down to meet Amy's gaze. "It's not about money, Amy. It's about making the best of what we have. And what we have is each other. That's more than enough."
Amy nodded thoughtfully, her trust in Dawn unwavering. "Okay. But can we at least draw some pictures to hang up?"
Dawn chuckled, pulling her little sister into a hug. "That sounds like a perfect idea."
As Amy skipped off to grab her crayons, Dawn's phone buzzed on the table. She picked it up, recognizing the name on the screen. "Tara."
"Hey, Dawn," her cousin greeted warmly. "How are you holding up?"
Dawn hesitated. Tara always had a knack for knowing when something was wrong. "I've had better days," she admitted.
"What's going on?" Tara pressed.
Dawn sighed, pacing the living room. "It's just the rent. I'll figure it out, though. I always do."
Tara's voice softened. "You know I can help if you need it."
"No," Dawn said quickly. "You've done enough already. I'll handle this."
Tara didn't sound convinced but let it go. "Alright. Just don't forget to take care of yourself too."
Dawn hung up, glancing toward the kitchen where Amy was already sketching on scraps of paper. Her siblings were her world, and no matter how hard things got, she would find a way to keep them safe.
Meanwhile, across town, Adam walked through the quiet hospital hallway, his steps heavy with exhaustion. He stopped at the receptionist's desk, his voice low but urgent.
"Can I see the doctor? It's about my wife."
The receptionist looked up, her brows furrowed in concern. "Is there a problem, sir?"
Adam hesitated, his throat tightening. "Nothing," he muttered finally, turning away.
He pushed open the door to Ava's room and sat beside her motionless body. Her chest rose and fell with the help of machines, the steady hum of monitors filling the silence. He took her hand in his, his own trembling.
"I'm scared, Ava," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I need you to tell me everything will be okay. I need you to wake up."
The memories of their happiest days flooded his mind—their laughter, their plans for the future. All of it felt like a distant dream now.
"I'm not tired of waiting for you," Adam said, tears streaming down his face, "but I'm tired of living without you."
Suddenly, the monitor emitted a high-pitched beep. Adam's heart leapt as the line on the screen went flat.
"Ava? Ava!"
He dashed out of the room, his voice echoing through the hallway. "Doctor! Somebody, please!"