The days bled together in a haze of hunger and noise. Nicholas quickly realized that survival here wasn't just about food—it was about navigating the unspoken rules of the household. Daniel was territorial, always ready to lash out at the slightest provocation, while Ella clung to her defiance like a shield. Sarah, though kind, had the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders, leaving her with little energy to deal with the constant squabbling.
Nicholas spent most of his time observing. He stayed quiet, learning the rhythm of the house and its inhabitants. Every interaction was like a chess game, each move deliberate and calculated. He wasn't ready to trust anyone—not yet.
One morning, the sound of breaking glass jolted him awake. He scrambled out of bed, his small legs carrying him to the main room. Daniel stood over Ella, a shattered bowl at his feet and rage in his eyes.
"I told you not to touch my stuff!" Daniel yelled, his voice cracking with frustration.
Ella backed away, her hands raised in defense. "I didn't! I swear I didn't!"
"You're lying!"
Nicholas froze in the doorway, his heart pounding. The tension in the room was suffocating. He wanted to turn around, to retreat back into the safety of his mattress, but something rooted him in place.
Sarah burst into the room, her face etched with exhaustion and worry. "What's going on now?" she demanded.
"She broke my bowl!" Daniel shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Ella.
"It slipped!" Ella cried, her voice trembling. "I was trying to clean up!"
"Enough!" Sarah's voice cut through the chaos like a knife. She glared at both of them, her hands on her hips. "I don't care who did what. We don't have the luxury of replacing things, so both of you need to learn to be careful. Do you understand?"
Daniel muttered something under his breath, his fists still clenched. Ella's eyes brimmed with tears, but she nodded.
Nicholas watched silently, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. He didn't care about the broken bowl or the argument—it was the way Sarah looked at her children, the way her voice wavered with exhaustion but never lost its resolve. It reminded him of his own mother, in a way. Not the polished socialite who hosted lavish charity events, but the woman who used to sneak into his room at night to read him stories when he couldn't sleep.
For the first time since waking up in this strange new life, Nicholas felt a pang of something other than anger or fear. He quickly shoved it down, refusing to let it take root.
Later that day, Sarah took Nicholas out to run errands. The city streets were a far cry from the pristine sidewalks and polished storefronts he was used to. Here, the buildings were crumbling, the air thick with smog and the scent of garbage. People moved with purpose, their faces hard and their eyes wary.
"Stick close," Sarah said, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "This isn't a place for wandering."
Nicholas nodded, his eyes darting around. He saw children no older than him darting between alleys, their clothes tattered and their faces smudged with dirt. He saw men and women huddled together, their eyes hollow and their bodies thin. This was a world he had never been forced to acknowledge, a world that had existed just outside the bubble of his privilege.
They stopped at a small market stall, where Sarah exchanged a few coins for a handful of bruised vegetables. Nicholas watched her carefully, noting the way she counted each coin before handing it over, the way she inspected every piece of produce like it was a rare treasure.
"Why do you do that?" he asked, unable to keep the question to himself.
Sarah glanced at him, her brow furrowed. "Do what?"
"Check everything so carefully."
"Because we can't afford to waste anything," she said simply. "Every coin, every scrap of food—it all matters."
Nicholas frowned, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. In his old life, waste was an afterthought. Leftovers were thrown out without a second glance, and money was spent as easily as breathing. Here, every decision seemed to carry the weight of survival.
That night, as they sat around the dinner table eating a thin vegetable stew, Nicholas found himself watching his new family again. Daniel ate quickly, his eyes fixed on his bowl like he was afraid someone might take it from him. Ella was quieter than usual, her movements slow and deliberate. Sarah sat at the head of the table, her shoulders slumped but her expression calm.
Nicholas felt a flicker of something unfamiliar. It wasn't affection—not yet—but it was a step closer. He still didn't trust them, still wasn't ready to let his guard down. But for the first time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was something worth protecting here.
Because if he had to survive this life, he might as well find a reason to fight for it. Even if that reason was as fragile and imperfect as the family sitting around him.