Chapter One

Lucy

The smell of burnt toast woke me before my alarm did. I groaned and rolled onto my back, staring at the cracked ceiling above my bed. It was 7AM in the morning. Too early to deal with life, and too late to pretend my problems didn't exist.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to enjoy the silence.

No phone calls, no emails, no overdue notices, and no creditors looking for my father, just silence.

Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I didn't need to look at the screen to know it wasn't good news. Good news never arrived before breakfast.

With a sigh, I reached for my phone. My stomach sank instantly. Payment Reminder. I deleted the notification without opening it. Cowardly?

Maybe. But I wasn't mentally prepared to start my day with another reminder that my bank account was hanging on by a thread. Swinging my legs off the bed, I forced myself upright and headed downstairs.

The scent of burnt toast grew stronger. It was Sophia. I walked into the kitchen to find my younger sister standing in front of the toaster with a horrified expression. Smoke curled toward the ceiling.

"Please tell me that's not breakfast." She pointed a butter knife at me. "It was breakfast." "Past tense?" "Very past tense."

I laughed despite myself. Sophia grinned. "There she is." "Who?"  "The sister who actually smiles."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. Coffee. The only thing keeping me functional these days.

Mom stood by the sink washing dishes. Dad sat at the table. Quiet. The smile slipped from my face immediately. I knew that look. The same look he'd worn for months. The look of a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Morning," I said softly. Dad looked up. A smile appeared. It didn't reach his eyes. "Morning, sweetheart." I hated that smile. Not because it was fake. Because he thought he had to fake it for us.

A few years ago, Michael George had been one of the most confident men I knew. His business had been thriving, clients respected him, employees admired him, and people sought his advice. Now? 

Now he looked tired all the time. Like life had taken a piece of him and never given it back.

Mom placed a plate in front of me. "Eat." "I'm not hungry." "Lucy." The warning in her voice made me smile. Some things never changed.

I picked up a piece of toast. It was slightly less burnt than Sophia's disaster. Progress.

Halfway through breakfast, Dad's phone rang. The atmosphere shifted immediately. Everyone noticed, but no one said anything.

Dad stared at the screen. His jaw tightened. Then he declined the call. A few seconds later, it rang again. The same number.

This time he answered. "Hello?" Silence filled the room.

I watched his expression slowly change. The color drained from his face. Mom stopped washing dishes. Sophia lowered her fork. My chest tightened. Whatever was happening wasn't good.

"I understand," Dad said quietly. Another pause. "Please give me more time." My grip tightened around my coffee mug. No one spoke and no one breathed. Finally, Dad ended the call.

The silence afterward felt unbearable. "What happened?" Mom asked. Dad rubbed a hand over his face. "The bank."

My stomach dropped. "The loan?" He nodded. "They're refusing another extension." Nobody spoke. I stared at the table. Sophia stared at her plate. Mom closed her eyes.

The kitchen suddenly felt smaller. Like the walls were closing in around us. "We'll figure something out," Mom said. Dad didn't answer. And somehow that frightened me more than anything. Because my father always had an answer. Today he had none.

An hour later I was standing outside my tiny design studio downtown. Studio was probably too generous a word. It was basically a rented workspace with peeling paint and secondhand furniture. Still, it was mine. My dream, or at least the beginning of it. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. 

The familiar scent of paint and wood greeted me. For the first time all morning, I relaxed. Design made sense, colors made sense, and layouts made sense. Life? Not so much.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was Chloe. I answered immediately. "Please tell me you're calling with life-changing news." "Depends."

"I desperately need it to be life-changing." She laughed. "There's a charity gala next weekend." I groaned. "That's not life-changing."

"It could be." I dropped into my chair. "Chloe."

"Lucy." "The last thing I need right now is a room full of rich people pretending they're humble." "You're impossible." "You're annoying."

"Yet you love me." Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong. "What makes this gala so special?" I asked. "Investors."

That got my attention. "Investors?" "Big ones." I sat straighter. Now she had my full attention.

"And before you say no, hear me out." I listened as she explained. Business owners, executives, potential clients, and networking opportunities Everything my struggling business desperately needed.

By the time she finished speaking, I found myself considering it. Which was dangerous, hope was dangerous, hope led to disappointment. And I had enough disappointment already.

"We'll see," I said. "You'll come." "We'll see."

"You'll come." I smiled despite myself. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was worth a shot. Maybe. The day passed slowly. I received emails, phone calls, rejected proposals, and more rejection. 

By six o'clock, I was exhausted. When I finally locked up and headed home, rain had started falling. Which was perfect.

The universe clearly had jokes today. I arrived home soaked. The lights were on. Mom's car sat in the driveway. Dad's truck too. Good. At least everyone was home.

As I stepped onto the porch, I noticed something unusual. An expensive black sedan was parked across the street. The windows were tinted, and the engine was running. It was strange. I frowned. Maybe it belonged to a neighbor. Shaking off the thought, I headed inside.

The moment I opened the door, I knew something was wrong. The living room was too silent. Mom sat on the couch. Sophia beside her. Dad stood near the window. Nobody spoke.

My pulse quickened. "What happened?" Dad turned toward me. His face was pale. And in his hand was a white envelope. One look, at it told me everything. Bad news, very bad news.

Slowly, he handed it to me. My eyes dropped to the bold lettering across the front and my heart stopped.

FINAL FORECLOSURE NOTICE.

We had thirty days before we lost our home.