The night had settled like a heavy blanket over the neighborhood, broken only by the occasional barking dog or distant shout. Inside Emma's small room, things were quieter. Not peaceful — just quiet, like a wound that had stopped bleeding but still hurt.
Lia had gone back to sleep after sipping a little juice. She lay curled in the same position, safe from the world, unaware of how hard her mother had fought for that peace.
Emma sat on the floor, her back against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Ruth was perched on the edge of the only plastic chair in the room, her scarf still wrapped tightly around her head. The candle between them flickered softly, casting gentle shadows on the cracked walls.
Neither of them had said anything for a while.
Then Ruth broke the silence.
"You know you can cry, right?"
Emma chuckled softly, dryly. "Crying won't pay rent."
"No," Ruth said. "But it can make space for breathing."
Emma looked down at her hands. "If I start, I might not stop."
"That's okay too."
There was something about Ruth — the way her voice held no judgment. No pity. Just presence. It made Emma's chest tighten.
She hadn't let anyone in for so long. Not really.
But tonight… something cracked.
"I was sixteen," Emma began quietly. "The first time I really thought someone loved me. He was… older. Charming. Said all the right things. I thought he saw me. But he just—"
Her throat tightened.
Ruth waited.
Emma continued. "He broke me. Not just my heart — me. And after that, I just… started building walls. But the problem is, I kept letting in the wrong people before the walls were strong."
Her voice was bitter. Regretful.
"There was another guy," she said after a pause. "Not long after. He was closer to my age. Made me laugh. Made me feel like maybe… maybe not all men are like that first one."
Ruth watched quietly, listening like it was the most important thing she'd ever done.
Emma's eyes glossed. "Then he disappeared. Left me with a pregnancy and a shattered soul. Said it wasn't his. That I was trying to trap him."
Ruth reached over and gently held Emma's hand.
Emma didn't pull away.
"I kept telling myself I was fine. That I was strong. But… it's not strength. It's just survival."
Ruth leaned back in the chair. "You've been surviving so long, you forgot what living feels like."
Emma nodded slowly.
"I don't know how to live anymore. I don't know how to be soft. Or open. Or hopeful."
Ruth took a breath. "Then let's start small. One breath at a time. One day at a time. You're not alone anymore."
Emma blinked fast, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
And this time, she didn't fight them.
She cried.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough to feel a little lighter.
Ruth sat beside her on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, both women staring at the little candle between them — two flickering flames, fragile but burning.
To be continued...