We've been walking for hours with our suitcases, my feet and hands aching. We're far from home—ex-home—and the gnawing hunger is becoming unbearable. Well, I'm hungry, and I suspect my mom is too. "Mom, where are we going?" I finally ask, realizing we can't keep walking aimlessly.
I know we can't go back to that place, not that I want to. But where are we headed?
My mom stares ahead, and I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. "I don't know, sweetheart," she replies, her voice heavy with doubt. I know she has no family in this country.
"Can't we find somewhere to rest?" I try to keep the whine out of my voice. "My legs are so tired."
She presses her lips together, her head drooping. After a deep sigh, she looks up at me. "I don't have my wallet. Your father took it from me."
That's when I realize I don't have mine either. Panic rises in my chest. How are we going to survive? We need money for food, for shelter. But then I remember the change I put in the left pocket of my jacket.
I unzip the pocket and pull out the coins. It's not much, just a handful of loose change. I hand it to my mom, who counts it with a troubled expression. I sigh, knowing it's not enough. "It's not enough for a room, is it?"
She shakes her head. "No, not even for a motel."
I look up at the sky, despair creeping in. "What are we going to do?" My voice barely escapes as a whisper.
"I'm sure you're hungry. Let's find something to eat with this. I'm sure we can find some street food we can afford. There's an abandoned ruin about three kilometers from here. We can spend the night there before it gets dark."
I stop in my tracks, turning to her in disbelief. "We're going to sleep in a ruin?" I exclaim, incredulous.
Mom looks at me, guilt etched on her face. "It's better than sleeping on the street," she whispers.
If I had any money, I'd give it all for food, water, and a safe place to sleep. That woman made sure to strip us of everything valuable when she kicked us out.
I take a shaky breath. "Mom, why would Dad do this? Why would he throw us out like this?"
I see her struggle to hold back tears at my question. "I don't know," she admits, blinking rapidly. "I'm just as shocked as you. I didn't even know I was divorced or that I'd been replaced until this morning when he brought that girl into the house."
I clench my fists and jaw in anger. "He'll regret this." I still can't believe my biological father did this. I'm in shock, waiting for us to wake up from this nightmare at any moment.
My mom offers a bitter smile. "Or maybe he won't. He thinks he'll have it all with that young girl who looks like a supermodel."
I don't know how to respond. I feel a deep sadness for her. How could a man do this to his own wife? The woman he once called the love of his life. There goes my idealized view of men, built on the foundation of my father, the first man I ever loved.
We find a street vendor selling food we can afford, and we buy a couple of items before continuing our walk. As we go, my mom spots a newspaper stand and rushes over just before it closes.
"What do you need the newspaper for?" I ask as she pays the man with our few remaining coins.
"To find a job. We need one to survive," she explains, flipping through the pages until she reaches the classifieds. She takes her suitcase, and we start walking again.
Mom leads me to an old wooden house in the middle of a field, completely deserted. The house is painted white, but the paint is peeling and faded. The windows are bare, and the door hangs loosely on its hinges. The roof is missing several boards, leaving a gaping hole that reveals the darkening sky.
As we stand there, my mom approaches the door and manages to close it, even in its broken state.
My legs ache, and my stomach is entirely empty. I pull out the food we bought and start eating while standing, searching for somewhere to sit.
The sky grows darker as the sun begins to set.
My mom pulls a shawl from her bag and spreads it on the ground for us to sit on. She uses the fading light to scan the newspaper as she eats.
"The most important thing we need is a roof over our heads," she says, her eyes glued to the job ads. "I need to find work because my eighteen-year-old baby girl shouldn't be homeless with me still alive."
I lean in closer, squinting to read in the dim light. "Do you want me to help you search?"
"Search my suitcase for my notebook while I look through the ads."
I rummage through her suitcase, recalling where she kept it. After a moment, I pull out the notebook and a pen and hand them to her. "Okay, so we don't have our phones, so I need to be careful about who I call," she murmurs, her eyes scanning the listings. "I never went to college, and you haven't started yet, so we have to choose what's most suitable for us since we lack the education or qualifications."
The weight of my mom's words sinks in, leaving me devastated. Our options are painfully limited, but at least they exist. "Mom, I think our only options are these two ads: a waitress or a maid?" I point to each one in turn, my tone heavy with sadness. No matter how hard I try to mask it, I can't hide my despair. How did we fall this far in a single day? From a mansion to an abandoned house missing half its roof.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.
My mom studies both options carefully. "Which one do you want to call first tomorrow morning?"
I turn to her, my heart aching. "Mom, we're really going to work as someone's maid or waitress?" I press my lips together, fighting back tears, trying to hold my emotions in check.
She wraps her arm around me, pulling me close. "We need to earn some money, Lisa. Otherwise, we'll end up living in these ruins because we're homeless." Her voice shakes, and I can sense her effort to stay strong.
This all feels so sudden and shocking. We're still processing everything while trying to hold ourselves together. Our lives have taken a rapid and unexpected turn because my dad couldn't remain loyal to his wife and family.
"Okay. Do you want me to choose?" I ask, resting my head against her chest.
"Yes, please."
"I guess maid," I say softly. "That way, we could live with the family, right?" I point to the ad. "Look, the Romanov family is looking for three maids. We could both work there."
My mom chuckles softly. "That's right. But why don't we call both, just in case?"
I'm ready to do anything to make some money.
"What will we use?" I ask, the obvious question hanging in the air.
"There's a payphone just a few meters from here. We passed it."
I nod, understanding. My mom pulls me closer, offering warmth and a sense of security. I cling to her, and we slowly drift off to sleep—not peacefully, as both of us keep one eye and ear open. The hooting of an owl, the barking of distant dogs, and the scurrying of rats around the house keep us on edge, praying that no snake is lurking nearby. Sleep eludes us, and the night stretches on.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
I wake up still holding onto my mom, who gently shakes me awake in the early morning light. I don't feel well-rested; we fell asleep sitting up, leaning against a wall, and we were constantly jolted awake by the sounds of animals outside. It's impossible to sleep peacefully in an abandoned house next to the road, especially with the door hanging off its hinges, knowing anyone could walk in at any moment.
We quickly jump to our feet, grab our suitcases, and set out to find a payphone. Thankfully, phone booths are still common in the city, so it doesn't take long. As my mom dials the number from the ad, I clench my fists, silently praying that we'll catch a break.
After three rings, a bright female voice answers. "Restaurant Hilltop, this is Courtney speaking. Good morning. How can I help you?"
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, whispering to myself, Please, please, please. "Hello. I'm calling about the advertisement I saw in the newspaper. It said you're looking for a waitress?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am. The position has already been filled."
"Oh. Alright, then. Thank you for your help. Have a good day."
"You too."
I hear a beeping sound, signaling that the line has disconnected. I take a few deep breaths, trying to steady myself. This is what I was most afraid of.
With the last few pennies my mom found in her pocket—coins I'd given her earlier—she calls the other number. Please, God, have mercy on us this time.
After a moment of waiting, I hear a woman's voice again. This one sounds older and friendlier. "Hello?"
"Uhm, hello. I'm calling about the ad I found in the newspaper. The one for the three maids?" My heart races with each passing second. My mom is doing her best to sound professional and calm, but I can see the nerves in her posture, and I hope the woman can't hear it in her voice.
"Maid? Oh! Yes, of course. Just a moment, let me get the madam," the woman replies, her tone making me even more anxious.