Emily pushed the apartment door closed behind her with a tired sigh. The hallway was dim, the only light coming from the thin strip under her grandmother's bedroom door. Everything was quiet, peaceful — the kind of peace that felt unfair after a morning like hers.
She dropped her tote bag onto the couch, then leaned her forehead against the wall. For a moment, she just stood there, trying not to cry. Her feet ached, her stomach was empty, and her mind wouldn't stop spinning.
What now?
No job. No backup plan. No idea how she'd come up with rent in two weeks, let alone the medical bill they'd sent last Friday. It was stacked under a pile of unopened envelopes she couldn't bear to look at.
She pushed off the wall and walked into the kitchenette. The fridge hummed its tired tune, half-empty like her bank account. She poured herself a glass of water, gripping it tight with both hands.
How long could she stretch what she had left?
Three days, maybe. A week, if she skipped dinner and lived on oatmeal. Again.
Emily rubbed at her temples and sat down at the tiny table. Her mind drifted, as it often did, to the one person she could never let down.
Grandma.
The only constant in her life.
After her parents died in a car accident when she was eleven, it was Grandma Irene who took her in. Who fought the system, signed the custody papers with trembling hands, and promised she'd never let Emily feel alone in the world.
She kept that promise.
Now it was Emily's turn to keep hers.
But keeping promises didn't pay hospital bills.
A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her spiral. She blinked, then stood slowly, setting her glass down as she crossed to the door and opened it.
"Chloe?"
Her best friend stood there holding two paper bags and a hopeful smile.
"I brought emergency snacks," Chloe said brightly. "And I figured you'd need a venting session."
Emily stared at her for a second, then stepped aside. "You're a psychic."
"Nope, just your best friend for the past five years," Chloe said, walking in like she lived there. She dropped the bags on the coffee table and flopped onto the couch. "So? How bad was it?"
Emily sat beside her, pulling her knees up to her chest.
"I got fired."
Chloe winced. "Cass finally snapped?"
"Eight-twelve," Emily said softly. "I walked in at eight-twelve and that was it."
Chloe didn't speak for a moment. Then she reached into one of the bags and handed Emily a chocolate bar. "Okay. That sucks. But you didn't kill anyone. You're not doomed. We'll figure it out."
Emily laughed — a dry, hollow sound. "You say that like there's an actual plan."
"There is. Step one: chocolate. Step two: job hunt. Step three: domination of the food service world. Or maybe something better."
Emily shook her head. "I don't have time for something better. I need money now. Grandma's blood pressure meds aren't cheap, and the clinic's asking for a down payment on the MRI. If I don't pay it soon…"
She trailed off, eyes burning.
"I can help," Chloe offered gently. "At least for the meds. You know I will."
Emily reached out and squeezed her hand. "I know. But I can't keep borrowing from you."
"It's not borrowing if I love you."
That made Emily smile for real, if only for a second.
"I just… I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I wake up every day already tired. I try so hard and I still end up behind. And now this? Another job gone. What's wrong with me?"
Chloe sat up straighter. "First of all, absolutely nothing. You're doing your best with a world stacked against you. Second of all, you're not alone. I mean it."
Emily nodded slowly, her throat thick with emotion.
"I just wish," she whispered, "that for once… something would go right."
Chloe looked at her for a moment, then stood up and started rummaging through the takeout bag. "Well, if we're wishing, can I request a lottery win and a beachfront villa?"
Emily smiled again, this time warmer.
Maybe she didn't have a job. Or a backup plan. Or enough money to buy real groceries.
But she had Chloe.
And that — for tonight — was enough to keep her from falling apart.