DAWN AND MEMORIES

I jolted awake as the alarm blared loudly. Turning it off, I groaned, feeling the sharp pain in my head worsen when I tried to stand up.

"Damn birthday parties," I muttered, holding my head with my hand as I shuffled toward the bathroom. The cold water rushed down my body, and I pondered last night. Why did I have headaches like I was hungover? I wasn't an alcohol person; I had consumed shrubs instead of vodka. What could be the reason?

As I sponged my body, avoiding bending down to prevent worsening my headache, my thoughts drifted to the old house. I needed to go there early to finish packing before evening.

I wore my usual comfortable outfit: loose baggy jeans and a crop top. My hair was in a loose bun, and I slipped on my Crocs. Just as I was about to put on my lip gloss, I heard Alexa's car horn from the window. She was dropping me off at the old house before visiting her parents.

"Hey, sunshine," Alexa said, looking pale and hungover as I got into the passenger seat.

"Hey, Dracula," I smirked. "You look hungover as hell. Auntie May is definitely going to give you a lecture."

"I know," she groaned. "I look terrible. I would have used concealer to hide it, but I'm so tired." She yawned loudly, starting the car.

"mmhhm , I still even find it strange that I woke up with a head aches this morning".I replied putting on my seat Belt.

"headache ? but you don't drink !" she said looking puzzled at me .

"yeah , tell me something I don't know. " I replied sinking into the chair.

"Maybe it's because of the loud music and all the drama that happened last night—the fight at the bar," she suggested.

"Yeah, maybe," I replied, looking out the window as we drove down the street.

Twenty minutes later, Alexa parked the car in front of the porch.

"Will you be okay?" she asked as I stepped out of the car.

"Yeah, I will. I'll call you when I'm finished," I replied, showing a small smile.

"Alright, love you," she blew me a kiss as she zoomed off.

Whew! I sighed as I looked at the house where I spent 17 years of my life. Memories flooded my head as I gazed at the porch. I had always spent evenings with my mom, sewing new curtains for the house right here.

I walked into the house, and a familiar scent filled my nostrils. My fingers caught the tears threatening to fall when my eyes landed on a portrait of my mom. I had promised myself not to cry while doing this.

Entering my mom's room, I found it neatly arranged and tidy, except for a few specks of dust on the furniture and the bed. I paid people to clean here every month, which explained why it looked so well-kept.

Two hours later, I had packed everything I could see, throwing away damaged items I couldn't salvage. But there was one place I hadn't touched: the basement. Mom had always forbidden me from going there, but I had to clear it out just in case.

As I walked toward the basement, cobwebs filled my face. Well, I hadn't given anyone permission to clean down there. The door creaked as I opened it.

And what did I find? An empty space. Well, almost empty. There, in the darker corner of the basement, sat an iron box. My mind raced with possibilities—could it be a box of cash or valuable treasures?

I searched for a key lock, but there was none. Instead, it had a combination lock. My excitement grew as I considered the possible passcodes. I tried my mom's birthday, August 8th—still locked. Then I attempted my own birthday, November 9th—still locked.

locked even after I tried all the significant dates related to my family. Frustrated, I gave up. Sitting on the floor, I stared intently at the box, memories flooding back. It surprised me that I could still recall those dates—perhaps because my mom had always talked about them.

Then it hit me: this box didn't belong to my dad; it was my mom's. May 24th—the day my dad lost everything—was etched in my mind. It was also the day he first laid hands on my mom. She carried that sadness with her every single day. Of course, she would use it as the passcode. Now that the box was unlocked, fear crept in as I hesitated to open it.

Summoning courage, I lifted the lid. But inside, disappointment awaited me: a stack of carefully arranged documents. They were all debts—ones my father owed and the ones my mother managed to pay off. Tears welled up as I remembered how tirelessly she worked to clear these debts, yet many remained unpaid.

I set aside the unpaid ones and was about to return the rest to the box when a brown envelope caught my eye. I tore it open, and a paper fell out. My eyes widened in horror and shock.

The paper in my hand was an agreement between my father and the Miller company for a staggering 100 million dollars and my name was there as collateral.

Just then, my phone rang, jolting me out of this horrific moment. I glanced at the caller ID . it was an unknown number. Composing myself, I answered, only to hear words that would completely alter my life.

"Hello, we are from MILLERS CO OPERATION. We are reminding you of the loan you obtained from us 19 years ago, which remains unpaid. Yesterday, November 9th, was the deadline. We strongly advise you to settle this debt promptly to avoid legal action. Thank you."

As the phone went dead, my hand trembled, and the realization hit me: my world had finally crumbled .