The fluorescent light in the Henderson kitchen hummed, a sickly bright against the early morning gloom outside. Hannah moved silently, preparing toast and instant coffee – the standard breakfast Miriam demanded. Rose and Jane were still asleep, recovering from their 'stressful' college year.
Miriam sat at the small table, pen scratching on a notepad. She crumpled the finished list and held it out.
"Hannah, when you go to your little job later, help me buy this expensive bread. The artisan sourdough from 'The Daily Crumb'. I saw it advertised, sounds fancy and I bet it would taste nice"
Hannah finished washing the pan she'd used for the toast. "Okay, Ma," she replied, her voice flat. She dried her hands on a thin towel and extended one towards Miriam, palm open. "Can I have the Money, Ma?"
Miriam stared at her as if she'd just asked for a kidney. Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Money, Ma," Hannah repeated, though the familiar tightening in her chest told her how this conversation would go.
A sharp, humorless laugh escaped Miriam. "Money? Use your money! Why do you think you have a part-time job if it isn't to support the family who raised you? Honestly, the nerve you have!" She tossed the list onto the counter instead of placing it in Hannah's hand. "You think this house runs on wishes? The electricity, the water you use for those endless showers, the food you eat... Do you see money just appearing out of thin air?"
"But my job money... it's for..." Hannah trailed off. It was for bus fare, for a new pair of work shoes she desperately needed, maybe, just maybe, a cheap second-hand book.
"For what?" Miriam challenged, leaning forward. "For luxuries? You have a roof over your head, girl! You should be grateful! That job money is family money now. Or rather, it helps offset the considerable cost of your upkeep."
Thomas Henderson shuffled in, rubbing his eyes, already complaining about the cost of gas. "she should start paying bills now..."
Miriam immediately pivoted. "Exactly, Thomas! Everything costs! And Hannah's little job barely covers... well, anything substantial." She shot Hannah a look that dared her to argue. "So, yes, the bread. And pick up some milk. Make sure it's the full-fat one, Jane likes it."
Hannah clenched her jaw, a muscle ticking in her cheek. Her entire paycheck from the bakery job barely covered the 'rent' Miriam demanded, the cost of her bus fare, and the occasional essential like toothpaste. Buying expensive bread and milk meant skipping lunch for a few days, or not being able to save for those worn-out shoes. It was a small demand, but it was another chip away at her meager existence, another reminder that her labor, her earnings, weren't truly hers.
"Yes, Ma," she finally said, retrieving the list from the counter. She didn't look at Miriam.
Leaving the house later, Hannah pulled her faded baseball cap low, hiding her bright ginger hair. The walk to the bus stop felt longer than usual, her shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of her exhaustion and the mental tally of her dwindling funds. Her reflection in a shop window was a blur of nondescript clothes, a face obscured by shadow – just another figure in the urban landscape.
At 'The Daily Crumb' bakery, the smell of fresh bread was almost painful on her empty stomach. She worked the afternoon shift, smiling politely at customers, ringing up orders, sweeping crumbs. Her feet ached in her worn shoes, the sole flapping slightly on one heel. Mr. Donovan, the owner, was gruff but mostly fair, though the pay was barely minimum wage.
Around closing time, she saw the sourdough on the shelf. A beautiful, crusty loaf, significantly more expensive than the standard white bread. She picked it up, weighing it in her hand. This loaf represented hours of her life, hours spent enduring the Hendersons, hours spent on her feet.
She took it to the counter, her hand hovering over her worn wallet. The money she earned felt less like payment for her work and more like a tax on her existence, immediately claimed by the Hendersons. Paying for their 'fancy' bread was just another layer of the exploitation, a small, bitter transaction in a life built on taking.
As she handed over the cash, watching the numbers on the register, the ache in her chest returned. It wasn't just about the money; it was about the principle, the constant demand, the unending cycle of giving and getting nothing but scorn in return.
Leaving the bakery, the expensive loaf in a paper bag, Hannah stepped out into the cool evening air. The setting sun cast long shadows, and the city lights were beginning to twinkle. She hugged the bag closer, not for warmth, but from a strange, hollow sense of resentment. She was buying their bread, using her money, supporting the very people who crushed her spirit daily.
She walked towards the bus stop, another long shift behind her, another day of enduring, another day where her own needs were secondary to the demands of the family who saw her only as a resource to be drained. The city lights seemed far away, part of a world she couldn't touch, a world where people weren't defined by the crumbs they were allowed to keep.