Emma's POV

The smell of fresh bread filled our small kitchen, and I couldn’t help but smile as I set the table. My mom, busy at the stove, hummed an old tune, her movements practiced and steady despite the weariness in her eyes. My dad sat in the corner, reading a faded newspaper for the third time this week, searching for hope in the job listings. He hadn’t said it aloud, but I knew work had been slow. The stress was starting to weigh on him.

But we didn’t talk about it. We never did. We couldn’t afford to dwell on what we didn’t have, so we focused on what we did—a warm home, each other, and love.

"Emma, will you grab the butter from the fridge?" Mom asked, her voice soft but tired.

“Sure, Mom,” I replied, pulling the fridge open. The contents were sparse, but we always made do. I placed the butter on the table and sat down beside my dad, trying to ignore the nagging worry that always lingered in the back of my mind. Money was tight—tighter than usual—and I knew it. That's why I worked extra hours at the library.

I glanced at the clock. 7:45 a.m. I had about 15 minutes before I had to leave. I was scheduled until 9 tonight, as usual. The library was quiet in the evenings, especially in our small town. Most people were home with their families by then, but I didn’t mind. The quiet gave me time to think, to lose myself in the pages of a good book.

“Emma, are you sure you're okay working so late?” my dad asked suddenly, lowering the paper. His brows furrowed, lines of worry etching his face.

“I’m fine, Dad. It’s just a few hours, and I enjoy the library,” I reassured him. “Besides, we need the extra money. I’m helping, right?”

He gave me a small, forced smile, but the concern never left his eyes. “You’re helping more than you know, sweetheart. But... we hate seeing you work so hard.”

I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I don’t mind. Really. And it’s safe. Mr. Harrison, the security guard, walks me out every night. You don’t need to worry about me.”

My mom joined us at the table, setting down the last of the food with a sigh. “We know, Emma. We’re just proud of you, that’s all. You’re doing so much for this family.” She smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes.

The three of us sat down to dinner, the sound of forks clinking against plates filling the small space. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. We didn’t need fancy things or big houses. All we needed was each other.

Still, as I ate in silence, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. My parents had sacrificed so much for me. They’d given me everything they could, even when they had so little themselves. That’s why I pushed myself to work, to make sure we got by, even if it meant late hours at the library and living paycheck to paycheck.

By 8:00 a.m., I was slipping into my worn jacket, waving goodbye to my parents as I headed out the door.

“Be safe, Emma,” my dad called after me. “Don’t stay out too late.”

“I won’t, Dad,” I promised, closing the door behind me.

The air was crisp, the kind that made you wish for an extra layer of warmth. Our neighborhood was quiet, the houses lining the street old and small but filled with families just like mine. People trying to make ends meet, finding joy in the little things.

As I walked to the bus stop, I thought about how different my life was compared to the books I read at the library. The stories were full of adventure, romance, and excitement. But my life... my life was simple, maybe even boring. And I was okay with that. I didn’t need excitement or grand gestures. I had my family, and I had my books.

The library, as always, welcomed me with its familiar, comforting scent of paper and ink. I walked between the shelves, running my fingers along the spines of books I knew so well. The silence of the place was soothing, a retreat from the worries of the world.

It was nearing 9 p.m. when I started closing up. The last patron had left a while ago, and the night seemed even quieter than usual. Mr. Harrison waited by the door as I tidied up, his kind face offering a sense of security in the otherwise empty building.

I glanced at the clock again. It was time to go.

With a sigh, I locked up the library and stepped into the cool night, ready to catch the bus home. Little did I know, this simple routine of mine, this peaceful life I had worked so hard to maintain, was about to be shattered.