Nicholas had always thought of survival as a concept—an idea that belonged to distant, tragic stories or the occasional motivational memoir he had skimmed through in his comfortable past life. But here, it was raw. It was real. It was daily.
The morning was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there. The tiny home they lived in barely kept out the chill, and the threadbare blankets they shared did little to help. Sarah was already up, boiling water for tea—or at least, what passed for tea. Nicholas watched her move with a quiet efficiency, her face blank but her eyes clouded with worry. It was always there, that worry. A constant companion in this new life.
Ella was still asleep, her small body curled up on the mattress they shared. Daniel, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen. He had left early, as he often did, and Nicholas didn't dare ask where he went. He had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.
The streets were bustling by the time Nicholas ventured outside. Vendors shouted their wares, the smells of fried food and unwashed bodies mingling in the air. The noise was overwhelming, a cacophony of life and desperation. He clutched the small cloth bag Sarah had given him, a few coins jingling inside. His task was simple: buy bread. Simple didn't mean easy.
He spotted a stall near the corner, the vendor's hands moving deftly as he sliced loaves for waiting customers. Nicholas hesitated, his small frame almost disappearing in the crowd. He had learned quickly that hesitation was dangerous here. It made you a target.
As he approached the stall, a hand shot out, grabbing the bag from his grip. Nicholas turned, his heart racing as he saw a boy—not much older than him—grinning wickedly.
"Thanks for the donation," the boy sneered, already turning to run.
Without thinking, Nicholas lunged. His hands caught the boy's arm, and they tumbled to the ground, a blur of limbs and curses. The crowd barely noticed, too absorbed in their own struggles. Nicholas fought with everything he had, his small fists striking out wildly. It wasn't enough.
The boy shoved him off, landing a kick to his stomach that left Nicholas gasping for air. By the time he recovered, the boy was gone, and so was the bag.
"What happened?" Sarah's voice was sharp when he returned, empty-handed and bruised. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes blazing.
"I…" Nicholas faltered, the words catching in his throat. "I tried, but—"
"But you let them take it," she finished for him. Her tone wasn't angry, exactly. It was something worse. Disappointed.
"It wasn't his fault," Ella piped up from behind her, her voice small but firm. "He tried."
Sarah's gaze softened as she looked at her younger sister. She let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Trying isn't enough. Not here. You have to learn to fight back, Nicholas. Or this place will swallow you whole."
Her words stung, but he knew she was right. He nodded, his jaw tightening with determination. He had to be stronger. Smarter. For them.
That night, Daniel returned with a split lip and a wad of cash that he refused to explain. Nicholas watched as he handed it to Sarah, who accepted it with a tight-lipped expression. There was no gratitude in her eyes, only resignation.
"Where did you get this?" Nicholas asked later, cornering Daniel in their shared room.
Daniel smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Does it matter? It keeps us alive."
"It matters if you get caught," Nicholas shot back. "Or worse."
"Look," Daniel said, his tone losing its edge. "You're new to this, so let me spell it out for you. There's no 'right' way to survive here. You do what you have to. End of story."
Nicholas didn't respond. He couldn't. Because deep down, he knew Daniel was right. And that terrified him.
The days blurred together after that. Nicholas began to adapt, his instincts sharpening with each passing encounter. He learned to navigate the streets with a wary eye and quick reflexes. He learned which vendors were honest and which would shortchange you without blinking. He learned to blend into the crowd, to become invisible when he needed to be.
But survival wasn't just about the streets. It was about home, too. About keeping the fragile threads of their family from unraveling. Sarah's exhaustion grew more apparent with each passing day, and Nicholas found himself stepping in where he could—helping with chores, watching over Ella, even cooking the meager meals they managed to scrape together.
He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was fighting. For them. For their family.
And slowly, imperceptibly, they began to fight for him too.
One evening, as they sat around the small table eating a dinner of stale bread and thin soup, Ella spoke up.
"Do you think we'll ever get out of here?" she asked, her voice quiet but hopeful.
Sarah glanced at her, then at Nicholas and Daniel. Her expression was unreadable.
"Maybe," she said finally. "If we're smart. If we're careful."
Nicholas looked at each of them in turn, his heart heavy but his resolve solidifying. He didn't know if they'd ever escape this life. But he knew one thing for certain.
He wouldn't let it break them.