I shifted, trying to find a corner where I could breathe without feeling like the ceiling was pressing down on my shoulders. Between the stove and the sink, I felt enclosed but at least not collapsing. Liam, curled up in towels inside that laundry basket, looked smaller than he was, his socks mismatched, his little hands tucking under his chin. I could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes caught the dim light from the lone bulb above our kitchen table.
“My mom… she works nights,” I said, barely audible. “Cleaning offices, driving deliveries… She’ll be back around six. We’re okay… I think we’re okay. I just… I don’t know how to make it better tonight.”
She didn’t rush me. She didn’t interrupt. She waited. “What would help the most before sunrise?” she asked.
I swallowed hard. I looked at Liam and felt a weight that had been growing in my chest for months, like the trailer itself was pressing down on me. “A bed,” I whispered finally. “A real bed… where he won’t wake up cold.”
I pressed my fist over my mouth, because the tears were already spilling and I couldn’t stop them. My little brother, my mom, the trailer, the quiet desperation of it all—it was too much for fourteen.
She said my name back to me, soft and slow. “Harper… stay on the line with me. We’ll make this work.”
Part 2: Strangers Who Saw Us
