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Chapter Sixteen
Mila
I shuffled through the front door, my body aching from the double shift at Wintertide. The stillness of our modest living room broke as Chad and Rachel bolted towards me, their small hands clutching at my uniform. Their eyes, so like our mother’s, were wide with unspoken worry.
“Daddy’s been asking for you,” Rachel whispered, her voice quivering.
I knelt to their level, smoothing back Rachel’s hair and offering Chad a reassuring smile. “I’ll go see him now.”
Their grips loosened, and I made my way to Dad’s room, where the rasping sound of his labored breaths filled the air. He looked smaller somehow, lost amid the blankets that seemed too big for his shrinking frame.
“Dad,” I called softly as I approached the bedside.
His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they shone with the vigor of healthier days. “Mila,” he breathed out, his voice a ghost of its former strength.
I took his hand, feeling the frailty of his bones beneath my grasp. “I’m here, Dad.”
He squeezed my hand with all the might he could muster. “You’re always here… my steadfast girl.”
The room fell silent except for the sound of our breathing. Dad’s eyes closed again, but his grip remained. I sat there until his hand relaxed and sleep reclaimed him.
Dragging myself to the kitchen, I found Brenda leaning against the counter with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She blew smoke towards the ceiling without acknowledging my presence.
“Did you give Dad his meds?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Slipped my mind. You’re back now.”
My jaw tightened at her indifference. With barely contained frustration, I grabbed Dad’s medication from the cabinet and filled a glass with water.
“Suppose I am,” I muttered under my breath.
After helping Dad, the moment my ass landed on the couch, Rachel emerged with a stack of papers clutched in her small hands. “Mila, look! I got an A on my spelling test!” Her grin stretched wide, her missing front tooth on full display.
“That’s amazing, Rach!” I cheered, taking the papers and rifling through them. Chad slouched behind her, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“And what about you, mister?” I nudged his shoulder gently. “How’s that math coming along?”
He mumbled something unintelligible and shrugged.
I knelt before him, tilting his chin up to meet my eyes. “Hey, we’ll tackle those fractions together, okay? You’re gonna knock ‘em out of the park.”
His face brightened a fraction at that, and I winked. “But first, let’s get some food in those bellies.”
In the kitchen, I whipped up a batch of macaroni and cheese—quick and comforting. As they ate, I quizzed Chad on his times tables and praised Rachel for her spelling prowess.
With dinner done and homework conquered, Chad and Rachel finally settled into bed after stories and reassurances that everything would be okay, I collapsed onto the couch. My limbs screamed for rest, but sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford—not with a list of chores that seemed to grow by the minute.
Brenda sauntered into the living room, eyeing me with a mix of contempt and boredom. “Aren’t you tired of playing martyr yet?”
Her words were like ice water down my back. Tired? Of course, I was tired—exhausted even—but someone had to keep this family together.
“No more tired than you are of being heartless,” I retorted before I could stop myself.
She huffed and retreated to her room without another word. Alone again in the quiet house, I rose from the couch. There were lunches to prepare for tomorrow and laundry that wouldn’t do itself.
As I sorted through colors and whites, memories of Cassius Portman flickered through my mind—his intense gaze at the ball felt like a world away from this one where every moment was measured by need and necessity. But fantasies wouldn’t pay bills or soothe fevers; they wouldn’t fight billionaires or save community centers.
So I pushed on through the night because that’s what Mila Johnson did—she endured.
