Maxine’s POV

I used to believe that if I kept pushing, life would not turn me into a joke.

That, maybe, if I worked enough hours, swallowed enough exhaustion, pretended the faint ache that lived permanently behind my ribs didn’t exist, things would eventually work out. That a stable life was something one earned, not something you were born into. It was a comfortable lie I used to motivate myself every morning, while tying my hair back, and every night while counting coins on the kitchen table

The café smelt like burnt milk and overused amounts of vanilla extract. It always did around closing time, when the last customer lingered too long, sipping on his usual latte, and the café lights felt more harsh than they should have been. I wiped down the counter slowly, not because it needed the extra cleaning, but because purposely stalling to avoid the reality for a while had become a thing of habit for me

My feet hurt.

My back ached.

I’d been since seven that morning, and in an hour, I’d be scrubbing the floors that didn’t belong to me, picking up after people who couldn’t be bothered to spare me a pity glance

“Maxine”, Jenna, my boss, called from the back, her voice light. “You good to close tonight?”

“Yeah”, I said automatically. Almost like a reflex action. I was always good. That was, one would say, one of my many admirable qualities, that people just loved to take advantage off. Reliable. Quiet. Useful. Just perfect.

The clock behind the coffee maker machine ticked louder than usual. The sound always irritated me for some reason. I took notice of the time. Six minutes left. I checked my phone, half-expecting a missed call. Mum didn’t like texting, said it felt like talking to a colleague, no feelings attached, just brief and neutral. But she called often, usually to ask if I’d eaten or to tell me how she managed to get a loaf of bread for a discounted price

The vibration came seconds later

Mum

I answered immediately. “Hey”

“Hi sweetie.” I recognized that stretched thinned voice any day. It sounded tired, like she had worn herself out again. “Your dad just stepped out not quite long ago”

I frowned, leaning against the counter. “Stepped out where?”

“To the shop. He said he forgot something”

I knew what that meant without needing her to finish the sentence

“It’s just a cake okay”, she added hastingly, like she could hide how expensive it was with that simple explanation. “For tomorrow”

My chest tightened. Ah yes, Tomorrow. The day of my birth. I turn Twenty-one. An age people talked about like it came with solutions with problems. Like something inside you clicked into place and the world began to make sense suddenly. I chuckled bitterly at the thought.

“He didn’t need to you know”, I said quietly. “We could have just done something else or—”

“I know sweetie, I know”, she cuts in gently. “But he wanted to. You know how he can be”

I did, sadly. Too generous with what he had. Too optimistic. Too willing to believe things would work out if he just tried harder. Maybe that’s who I get my naivety and sense of hope from, I thought.

“Just come straight home after work okay?. She said. “It’s pouring outside.”

Wouldn’t want to catch a cold now, brughhh”

I smiled at the silly sound. “I will”

There was a short pause. Almost like we both knew what to say but neither wanted to say it.

“I love you”

She decides to break it

“I love you too”, I replied back

When the call ended, I stared back at my phone and caught a glimpse of my reflection. I looked older than twenty-one. People never failed to remind me of that. As if the need to survive would not naturally take over ones appearance.

My dad would be a perfect example for this. He had worked for the Myers family my entire life. A chauffeur, driver, errand runner when needed. A once bright, vibrant young man, turned into a hunched-back servant. He wore their crest on his uniform and spoke about them with a mix of respect and caution, like they were not ordinary people.

“They take care of their own”, he would say.

We were never included in that own

I locked up the café and stepped into the night, the cold tearing it’s way through my coat. The streetlights blinked, casting long shadows on the pavement as I walked home.

The city was quiet in that late-evening way, almost serene like. Calming

I didn’t know then, through that peaceful walk home that I was walking towards the end of my old life

That each step I took was carrying me closer to the moment everything would change

When I reached our street, I noticed the house was dark. No lights in the living room. No glow from the kitchen window. Mum usually kept something on for Dad, even if it was just the lamp by the sofa. Odd.

I told myself they were probably in bed already.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floor boards welcoming me home. I kicked off my shoes and hung my coat, the quiet slowly settling around me

“Mum?” I called softly.

No answer.

I moved towards the kitchen, already planning to tease Dad about spending money we didn’t have. About how turning twenty-one was not special enough to buy a whole cake for, God!

That was when I heard the knock.

Firm.

I turned towards the door, my heart beating fast for reasons I could not explain. Almost like it knew. Mum appeared in the hall way at the same time, still in her coat, work shoes on, face pale.

She tried to grab my arm for support. “Maxi—”

I opened the door

Two police officers stood on the doorstep, rain clinging to their jackets. Their expression was neutral, desperately trying to hide any and every other emotion. One of them for my name, the other glanced through the house.

Why were they here? My heart sanked when they finally spoke

They mentioned my fathers name

And suddenly, the world turned upside down in the blink of an eye.