Four

The days blended together in a haze of routine and exhaustion. Each morning was a repeat of the last—early wake-up calls, endless chores, and fleeting moments of respite. Despite the monotony, I found solace in the small victories, like when Aiden brought home a perfect score on a test or when Clara didn't reprimand me for a minor mistake.

One crisp autumn morning, as I was in the middle of scrubbing the floors, Clara stormed into the kitchen, her face a mask of irritation. "Ivy, come here. We need to talk."

I set the mop aside and followed her into the living room, where Clara was pacing back and forth. Her frustration was palpable, and I braced myself for whatever criticism was coming next.

"I've had enough," Clara began, her voice sharp. "The house needs a serious overhaul. I can't keep up with all the repairs and maintenance on my own. We're going to need some help."

I bit back a sigh. "What do you need me to do?"

Clara's eyes narrowed. "I need you to find a handyman or someone who can fix the broken faucet in the bathroom and the loose tiles in the kitchen. I don't have time to deal with it myself."

I nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good," she said curtly. "And make sure they're affordable. I don't want to spend more than we have to."

As Clara walked away, I felt a knot of worry in my stomach. Finding someone reliable and inexpensive in our town wouldn't be easy, but I couldn't afford to let Clara's frustration affect me. I needed to handle this well, or risk more of her ire.

After a quick search around town, I found an older man named Mr. Hargrove who did odd jobs for a modest fee. He agreed to come by the next day, and I felt a small sense of relief. At least this was one problem I could tackle.

The following day, Mr. Hargrove arrived early, carrying a toolbag that looked as old as he was. His weathered face broke into a friendly smile as he introduced himself.

"Morning, miss. Clara said you needed some work done."

"Yes, thank you for coming," I said, leading him to the bathroom. "The faucet's been leaking for weeks, and the tiles in the kitchen are coming loose."

Mr. Hargrove nodded, taking a look at the issues. "Alright, I'll get started on the faucet first."

While he worked, I busied myself with cleaning around the house. I tried to ignore the small twinge of envy as I thought about the other kids at school, those who lived lives of ease while I scrambled to keep everything in order. The burden of responsibility weighed heavily on me, but I had to push through.

Around noon, Mr. Hargrove took a break and sat down at the kitchen table, pulling out a sandwich from his lunchbox. "It's nice to have a break every now and then," he said with a chuckle. "Been working on houses since before you were born, and I still enjoy it."

I smiled, grateful for the small talk. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Oh, a good forty years or so. Used to have my own business, but it got too busy, so now I just do small jobs here and there. Keeps me busy and out of trouble."

"Sounds like a lot of experience," I said, trying to make conversation. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Can't complain," he replied, taking another bite of his sandwich. "It's honest work, and I like fixing things."

The conversation was a welcome distraction from my worries. I couldn't help but wonder what life would be like if I could choose my own path, rather than constantly battling to keep things from falling apart.

By the end of the day, Mr. Hargrove had finished the repairs. The faucet was working perfectly, and the tiles were secured. I paid him with the small amount of money I had saved, and he left with a friendly wave.

Clara came home just as Mr. Hargrove was leaving. She inspected the repairs with a critical eye, but this time, I saw a flicker of approval in her gaze.

"It's about time," she said. "You did well finding him."

"Thank you," I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic. I wasn't sure if her praise was genuine or just a momentary relief.

Later that evening, after dinner, I sat in the living room with Aiden. He was finishing up his homework, and I was reading a book I'd borrowed from the library. It was one of the few ways I could escape for a little while, immersing myself in stories that took me far away from the confines of Clara's house.

Aiden looked up from his work, his face full of curiosity. "Ivy, do you think we'll ever be able to move out of here?"

I glanced up, caught off guard by the question. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, his expression a mix of hope and uncertainty. "Sometimes I dream about having our own place, where we can be free and not worry about everything all the time."

I felt a pang in my heart. I wanted to promise him that one day we'd escape this life, but I wasn't sure how. "Maybe," I said softly. "It's hard to say, but we have to keep working hard and hoping for the best."

Aiden nodded, though I could see the disappointment in his eyes. I knew he was just a kid, but his dreams were as big and hopeful as mine. I wished I could give him more than just empty promises.

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't shake the conversation from my mind. Aiden's question had struck a chord with me. I wanted more for us—more than just scraping by and enduring Clara's harshness. I needed to find a way to make our lives better, even if it felt like an impossible dream.

I thought back to our old home, to the days when things had seemed more secure, more promising. I remembered the laughter we shared, the sense of normalcy that had been ripped away. It was a painful reminder of what we had lost, but it also fueled my determination to find a way forward.

Tomorrow would come with its own set of challenges, but for tonight, I clung to the hope that somehow, things would change. For Aiden, if not for myself.