Chapter 3 Chapter 3

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the smell. Warm, savory, and a little salty, the kind of smell that always pulls me from sleep with a smile. My stomach growls before my eyes even open, and for a second, I just lie there under the thin quilt, breathing it in. Fried fish.

I shove the blanket off and sit up, rubbing my eyes. The early morning light filters through the faded curtains, casting pale stripes across the room I share with my two younger siblings.

My little sister, Amelia, is still curled up in her bed, her thumb halfway in her mouth, while my brother, Eli, has already kicked off his blanket, sprawled out like a starfish. Both of them are snoring softly.

“Wake up, sleepyheads,” I whisper, though I know they won’t just yet. Amelia groans and burrows deeper into her pillow. Eli doesn’t even move.

Typical.

The floor is cold under my bare feet as I cross the room and grab my uniform from the hook on the wall. It’s nothing fancy, just a plain navy skirt and a white blouse that’s been washed so many times it’s more cream than white.

I tug it on quickly, running a brush through my hair with my fingers before twisting it into a messy bun. Hey! Don’t judge, the weather’s too cold for a bath.

The smell of fried fish grows stronger, mingled with the faint tang of wood smoke from the old stove downstairs. My mouth waters. I haven’t eaten since last night, and Mom’s cooking is always worth rushing for.

“Ma’s frying breakfast!” I whisper shout to my siblings, just to see if it’ll get a reaction. Eli stirs, one eye opening. Amelia just groans louder.

Rolling my eyes, I grab my bag and dash out of the room, my feet pounding down the narrow wooden stairs.

The moment I hit the kitchen, the heat and light wrap around me like a hug. Mom stands over the stove, a pan of sizzling fish fillets popping and hissing in front of her. Her hair is tied up in a scarf, a few curls escaping to frame her tired but beautiful face. The smell makes my stomach clench with hunger.

“Morning, Ma!” I cry, running straight to her and wrapping my arms around her waist.

She laughs, startled but delighted, and hugs me back with her free arm. “Chloe, you nearly made me drop this fish! You’re too big to be running at me like that.”

“Never too big for hugs,” I say into her side, grinning.

“You’re never too big for chores either,” she teases, giving me a playful swat with the wooden spoon before handing it to me. “Here, stir this for me while I fix the plates.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, slipping easily into the familiar rhythm of helping her.

The kitchen is small, the counters a little worn, but it’s warm and alive. A pot of rice bubbles gently on the back burner, and a plate of sliced tomatoes waits beside a stack of chipped dishes. I stir the fish carefully, trying not to splatter oil on my uniform.

“Smells amazing,” I say, my mouth watering.

Mom smiles over her shoulder as she ladles rice into bowls. “Caught it fresh yesterday. Mrs. Kline traded me for a basket of tomatoes and some onions.”

My chest swells with pride. Mom works so hard to keep us fed. She spends her mornings selling fish at the market, her afternoons cleaning houses for extra cash, and her evenings cooking and caring for us. She never complains, not even once.

The stairs creak, and Eli stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Amelia trails behind him, yawning like a tiny cat.

“Morning, babies,” Mom says warmly. “Sit down. Breakfast is ready.”

They drop into their seats at the wobbly wooden table, their tired faces brightening at the sight of food. I set the pan down and join them, my stomach growling loudly enough for everyone to hear. Eli giggles, and Amelia covers her mouth to hide her laugh.

“Don’t laugh,” I protest, but I’m grinning too.

Mom shakes her head with a fond sigh and places a bowl of rice and the fish in front of me. “Eat up all, Chloe. You’ve got a long day ahead.”

I don’t need to be told twice. The first bite is heaven, crispy skin, tender meat, perfectly seasoned. It tastes like home..

We eat together in a blur of clinking spoons and happy chatter. Eli talks about the new soccer ball his friend brought to school yesterday, while Amelia hums a song she made up on the spot. I listen, smiling, soaking in the moment.

Sometimes, when things get hard, I cling to mornings like this. Even if we don’t have much, we have each other.

When the bowls are empty and the plates cleared, I help Mom wash the dishes while Eli and Amelia get ready for school. The water is lukewarm and a little cloudy, but we make do.

“Are you working the market today too?” I ask, scrubbing a plate.

Mom nods, her hands busy drying another dish. “I’ll be there until noon, then Mrs. Weaver needs me to clean her house before dinner.”

I bite my lip, wishing I could help more. I already work part-time at the coffee shop in town, but the money barely covers my school supplies and bus fare.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Mom says, reading my thoughts like she always does. She kisses the top of my head. “You just focus on your studies. You’re going to make something of yourself, Chloe. I know it.”

Her faith in me makes my throat tighten. “I’ll try, Ma. I promise.”

By the time we’re done, Eli and Amelia are ready. Amelia’s backpack is almost as big as she is, and Eli’s shoelaces are hopelessly knotted. I kneel to fix them, shaking my head.

“You’ve gotta learn to tie these yourself,” I scold gently.