Chapter 1

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‎Roselle’s POV

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‎“Mom…” My voice was barely a whisper. I held the heavy envelope back out to her. “I… I cannot take this. We need it more in the house.”

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‎“You can.” She took a step back so I was forced to hold it. She refused to look at me. “And you will, as for the house? we will manage"

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‎"you say that everytime"

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‎"And we always do"

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‎The envelope was warm from her hands. It held four hundred dollars. I knew the exact amount without opening it because I watched her count it out last night at the kitchen table. She licked her thumb between each bill. Her lips moved silently the way they always did when she did math she didn’t want to do out loud.

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‎Four hundred dollars was two of her paychecks. It was groceries for six weeks. It was the electric bill and half of Tobias’s new cleats.

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‎She turned back toward the stove with a spatula in her hand. She said the words light and quick, like they cost her nothing. But she just spent the last three nights working extra shifts at the hospital just so this envelope could exist. Her old robe dragged on the floor. If I hadn’t known her my whole life, I might have believed she was fine.

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‎But I knew her.

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‎Aunt Denise’s laugh hit my stomach again, more sensation than memory. It came sudden and sick. I was twelve years old. Denise was in my mother’s chair at this same table. She laughed with all her teeth and told my mother in a sweet, mean voice that it must be nice not having to worry about looks, since nobody expected much from a firefighter’s wife anyway.

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‎My mother laughed along with her.

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‎That was the part that stayed stuck inside me. My mother laughed at her own pain because making a scene was worse. My father walked in halfway through it. He took one look at her face. He said, quiet and steady, that Denise was welcome in his house as long as she remembered whose house it was. Denise left twenty minutes later. My mother cried in the bathroom for ten minutes. Then she came out smiling like nothing happened.

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‎A promise settled into my bones that year. Nobody would ever get to look at me the way Denise looked at my mother. Nobody would get to decide I was worth less because I didn’t have money. I was going to build something so solid that no one could ever make me feel like a burden again.

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‎“Roselle.”

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‎My father’s voice pulled me back. I smelled burning toast. I heard Tobias running down the stairs two at a time. My father sat in his usual spot. His left arm rested carefully on the table. It was the arm that got hurt three years ago. He held it slightly away from his body like a heavy thing he was still getting used to carrying. He watched me a beat too long.

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‎“I am fine,” I said. It was our family password.

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‎He stared at me for a long time. “You…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “You need to get going soon. You will be late.”

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‎Tobias slid into the kitchen in one sock. His hair stood up on one side. He grabbed the last of the orange juice like it was a race.

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‎“You leaving now?” he asked with his mouth full.

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‎“This afternoon.”

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‎“Good. I finally get my room back.”

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‎“It’s not your room, it’s the office.”

‎“It has a bed in it. That makes it a room. That’s just facts, Roselle.” He grinned at me over the glass, orange juice mustache and everything, sixteen years old and still somehow certain that being annoying was a love language, which honestly, in this house, it kind of was. "You gonna cry when you leave”

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‎"No, I'm not"

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‎“Mom is gonna cry.”

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‎“Tobias,” my dad warned softly.

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‎“I am… I am not,” my mother said from the stove.

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‎She did not turn around. But her voice cracked hard on the last word.

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‎The kitchen went completely quiet. Tobias actually stopped talking. My father looked at her back, then at me. Nobody moved. The silence was thick and uncomfortable.

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‎She turned around a second later. Her face was smooth and bright again. She put on the fake smile she kept just for mornings like this.

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‎“Eat your food,” she said. “You look tired.”

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‎“I slept fine.”

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‎“You are lying. But…” She sighed heavily. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

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‎She smiled. She reached over to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. She used to do that when I was small. For one second, her hand stayed there. Her eyes looked far away, somewhere I couldn’t reach. Then she blinked. She moved away and plated the eggs like nothing happened.

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‎The envelope sat heavy in my hand. It was wrapped in a rubber band she probably saved from the mail. My father’s injured arm hovered in my mind. The stupid sound of Tobias drinking juice too fast sat under it all. It was all so ordinary, and I knew I would miss it.

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‎I renewed my private rule. I will not need anyone. I will not be anyone’s charity case.

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‎“Roselle.” My mother’s voice was softer now. She stood right in front of me.

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‎Her fake smile slipped. For  one second, the tired, scared woman underneath showed through.

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‎“What?” I asked. My chest hurt.

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‎She opened her mouth. A heavy breath hitched in her throat. She looked like she was about to break.

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‎“Mom?”

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‎She looked at the floor. She swallowed whatever she was going to say.

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‎“Nothing.” She turned back to the stove way too fast. “Just… call me. When you get there. Okay?”

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‎Her hand shook when she picked up the pan.

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‎I looked at the plate. I looked at the envelope.

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‎I didn't eat.

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‎I shoved the money into my pocket, grabbed my bags, and walked out the door before the guilt could make me stay.

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‎They gave me everything they had left. Now, I was going to college to make it count.

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‎I was not going to let them down.