Page 26 of Run Omega Run
Rent money that wasn't coming. Utility bills that kept climbing. Groceries that cost more each week while donations grew scarcer. Medical expenses that would have crushed us if Bennett hadn't somehow made them disappear. And now the threat of losing everything anyway, not because we couldn't pay but because someone with more power had decided our home was worth more empty than it was with us living in it.
I pulled out a calculator with buttons that stuck and numbers that had worn away from years of overuse. Seven children, times three meals a day, times thirty days in a month. Rent that hadn't been reduced despite the building's deteriorating condition. Heat and electricity and water that kept flowing despite our inability to pay for them.
The numbers blurred together as tears I'd been holding back all day finally trickled down my face.
Somewhere upstairs, Loubie Lou cried out in her sleep, probably dreaming about her rabbit or the scary men who'd spoken in loud voices earlier. I wiped my eyes and climbed the stairs to comfort her.
But as I tucked her back into bed and smoothed her wild hair away from her face, I couldn't shake the image of Jude's cold smile or the casual way he'd talked about our home's "potential."
After wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I made my way to check on Mom. The medication had given her the deepest sleep she'd had in weeks, but Jude's visit had left me paranoid about everything... what if the stress of the day had been too much, what if she only had days left to live? What if she'd heard the threatening voices from downstairs and was lying awake worrying about problems she couldn't solve?
I eased her door open carefully, trying not to let the hinges creak loud enough to wake her if she was truly resting. The room was dark except for the weak streetlight filtering throughcurtains that had seen better years, casting everything in shades of gray.
But she wasn't asleep. Her eyes were open, reflecting what little light managed to penetrate the darkness, and they tracked toward me as I stepped into the room.
"I thought I heard voices," she said, her words barely above a whisper but clear enough to carry the strain of questions she was afraid to ask directly.
"Just some people from town," I said, settling into the chair beside her bed. "Nothing to worry about."
She studied my face, even weakened by illness and medication, she could still see through my careful façades with the precision of a surgeon cutting away everything false to reveal the truth beneath.
"Come here," she said, reaching out her hand toward me.
I took her fingers in mine, feeling how fragile they'd become. But her grip was surprisingly strong when she squeezed my hand, pulling me closer to the bed so she could speak without raising her voice above the careful whisper that wouldn't wake the children.
"Save yourself," she said, and the words hit me like a physical blow. "Not this place, not me. Save yourself."
"Mom—"
"Promise me," she continued, her voice gaining strength from desperation. "When I'm gone, when there's nothing left to hold you here, promise me you'll run. Find somewhere safe, somewhere you can build a life that isn't built on other people's cast-offs and hand-me-downs."
The tears I'd just finished wiping away threatened to start flowing again. "I'm not leaving the children. I'm not abandoning everything we've built here."
"What we've built here is held together with hope and stubbornness," she said, and there was infinite sadness in hervoice. "It's not sustainable, Heather. You're killing yourself trying to keep everyone else alive."
"I'm fine," I protested, but even as I said it, I knew how hollow the words sounded. When was the last time I'd eaten a full meal? When had I last slept through the night without waking to check on someone or worry about money or listen for sounds that might mean trouble?
"You're twenty-four years old," Mom said, her grip tightening on my hand. "You should be figuring out what you want from life, not spending every waking moment trying to patch holes in a sinking ship."
"This isn't a sinking ship," I said fiercely, tucking the blanket more firmly around her shoulders. "This is our home. This is our family. And I'm not giving up on either one."
She sighed, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her damaged lungs. "You're as stubborn as I ever was. Maybe more."
"I learned from the best," I said, smoothing her hair away from her forehead the way she used to do for me when I was small and frightened by thunderstorms or nightmares.
"Those men who helped us today," she said after a moment. "They care about you."
"They're kind people who saw someone in trouble."
"No," Mom said, and there was a certainty in her voice that cut through my careful dismissal. "I've seen how men look at women they want to protect, and I've seen how women look at men who make them feel safe. What's happening between you and them... that's not charity Heather. That's something else entirely."
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, grateful for the darkness that hid my blush. "It's complicated."
"Love usually is," she said simply. "But sometimes complicated is worth the risk."
Before I could respond, she closed her eyes and let her breathing settle into the steady rhythm of sleep. I sat beside her for several more minutes, listening to the sound of air moving in and out of lungs that were working better tonight than they had in months, trying to process everything she'd said about saving myself.
When I was sure she was truly asleep, I kissed her forehead and made my way back to my own room. But sleep felt impossible now, my mind was racing. My body felt restless, coiled with energy that had nowhere to go except inward, where it would feed the anxiety that was already threatening to consume me from the inside.
