Chapter 10
Panic flared in her mother’s eyes, superseding the shock as she realized the true implications of Clara’s words. She dropped to her knees on the wooden porch, ignoring the freezing dirt, and reached out with trembling, soot-stained hands toward the narrow gap in the door.
“Clara, please,” her mother begged, her voice dissolving into genuine desperation. “We’re your family. We made a terrible mistake in the panic. No parents want to lose a child. Look at your brother—he’s sick, Clara. He needs the filtration container from your bag. If you have any heart at all, you’ll give it to us.”
Clara looked down at Toby. The little boy was huddled against his father’s leg, shivering violently, his small face pale and pinched under a layer of grime. He looked up at her with big, watery eyes, completely innocent of the cruelty of the adults who carried him. A sharp pang of pity tugged at Clara’s chest—not for her parents, but for her little brother, who was being used as a pawn in their desperate play for survival. She knew that without the contents of the red backpack, Toby wouldn't survive another night on the mountain.
Her father saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes and immediately pressed his advantage, his voice softening into a crude, manipulative imitation of warmth. “That’s right, Clara. Be a good sister. Pass the bag here, and we can all go inside together. We can be a family again. I promise things will be different.”
The lie hung in the air between them, greasy and familiar. It was the same promise he had made a hundred times before when he broke a commitment or ignored her presence for weeks on end. Things will be different. But Clara knew better than anyone that people like him never changed; they only adapted to whoever could serve them best in the moment.
“You never wanted a family, Dad,” Clara said softly, her voice steady and resolute. “You wanted an audience. And I’m done clapping.”
May you like
She reached up, unclipped the right strap of the red backpack, and slid it off her shoulder. Her parents’ faces lit up with sudden, greedy triumph, their hands reaching out eagerly into the gap, ready to snatch the prize they felt entitled to. But instead of handing over the entire bag, Clara unzipped the side pocket with her free hand, pulled out one of the spare face masks and a sealed packet of rations, and tossed them out onto the wooden porch floor between her mother’s knees.
She left the main container and the rest of the supplies safely secured inside the pack, clutching the straps tightly against her chest.
