Sofia sat in the quiet room at Blackwoods Manor, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the stone walls. The distant sounds of laughter and conversation from the grand hall seemed miles away, as if they belonged to another life. She pressed her fingertips to the cool glass of the window, staring out into the dark, knowing the peace outside was a world away from the turmoil in her heart.
The letters from home had been few and far between, each one carrying the same news—her father's condition was worsening. The bills continued to mount, and no matter how hard she worked, no matter how many extra hours she put in, it was never enough. The payment from her job as a nanny, though steady, barely covered the medical costs, let alone the mounting expenses of keeping their small home. Sofia's heart broke every time she thought of her mother, trying to hold things together, and of Leo, who was too young to fully understand the weight of it all.
She could hear her father's voice in her memory—the deep, steady tone that had once filled their cottage with comfort and assurance. How she longed to hear it again, to feel the strength of his presence in the room. But all she had now were the words from the letters, and each one brought with it a sinking feeling, as though the space between them was growing wider with every passing day.
The walls of Blackwoods Manor, with their polished wood and gleaming chandeliers, seemed to mock her as she sat in the shadows, knowing that, no matter how well she did her job, it would never change the reality of her situation.
Her father needed an operation, a chance at recovery. But she had no way of affording it, and the weight of that helplessness was suffocating. What good was it to take care of other people's children when she couldn't even save her own family?
The guilt gnawed at her. Every laugh she heard in the halls, every moment she spent playing with the children of Blackwoods Manor, was a reminder of what she had lost. She could barely bring herself to enjoy those fleeting moments. It was as though she were living in someone else's world, a world that would never be hers, not fully, not until her father was well again.
But she couldn't give up. She had to keep going. For her family. For her father, whose life was slipping away with each passing day.
She wiped away a tear before it could fall, taking a deep breath. There was still hope—faint, fragile, but still there. And as long as there was breath in her lungs, she would fight for it.
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