The office was quiet, only the soft hum of the computers filling the space. I went about arranging the files on my desk, each folder a small reminder that my first real week had begun. The work felt mundane, but the thought of what was to come kept my excitement alive.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Liam's teacher.
"Freeda, I wanted to let you know Liam has been off-track in school lately. Please check in with him when you can."
My chest tightened. I hadn't noticed anything serious before… maybe I'd been too caught up in my own world. The message made me worry, and I knew I needed to ask him about it as soon as I got home.
By the time I walked through the front door, Liam was sitting at the table, the envelope from the teacher in front of him.
"Liam… what's this?" I asked cautiously, holding the envelope.
He avoided my eyes. "It's my results," he muttered.
I unfolded the papers, scanning them quickly. My stomach sank. His grades had dropped sharply in almost every subject.
I turned to him, trying to keep my voice calm. "Liam… is this why you've been acting off lately? Is this what the teacher was warning me about?"
He slumped in his chair, rubbing his face. "It's… it's too much, Freeda. I can't always get it right."
I struggled to control my frustration. "Liam, you know how important this is. You have to take responsibility for yourself. You can't just let this keep sliding."
His eyes flashed with anger. "Responsibility? You're not my parent! You don't get to tell me what to do!"
"I'm not trying to control you. I just care," I said quietly. "That's all. You have so much potential… don't throw it away."
He shook his head sharply, standing up. "I can't do this right now! You don't understand me at all!"
I realized staying would only make things worse. "I'm going out for a while," I said quietly. "I need some air."
Joyce's house felt like a sanctuary as I walked up the steps. I needed comfort, a place to breathe without the weight of Liam's stubbornness pressing on me.
When I opened the door, the aroma of something cooking wrapped around me like a warm hug. Joyce stood in the kitchen, looking radiant. Her sharp features were striking, framed by light hair that caught the sunlight streaming through the windows. Her caramel skin glowed warmly, and an apron hung loosely around her waist. Even while stirring something on the stove, she carried herself with effortless grace, calm yet confident.
"Freeda! Come in, come in," she said, her voice bright. "You look like you've had a long day."
I sank onto the couch, feeling a little of the tension melt away. "It's… been a lot," I admitted.
Joyce glanced at me, her gaze soft and curious. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
"It's Liam," I said, running my hands over my face. "His grades… they're really bad. I don't know what to do with him. I tried to talk to him, but he won't listen."
Joyce stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "He's your brother. You can care, you can push, but some things he has to figure out himself. You've done your part—don't forget that."
I let out a long sigh, letting her words sink in. The tension in my shoulders eased. Being independent didn't mean I had to carry everything alone—I could lean on Joyce, even if just to think and breathe.
I looked around the kitchen: sunlight bouncing off the tiles, the soft hum of the stove, and Joyce moving with effortless grace. She reminded me that life didn't always have to feel heavy, that even amidst chaos, there could be warmth.
And for the first time in hours, I felt like I could breathe again.
But just as I started to relax, my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This time, it wasn't from a teacher or a friend. It was from an unknown number.
I opened it cautiously.
"Freeda, report to Operations Support on Monday morning. There's been a change in your first assignment. Details to follow."
I froze.
Joyce noticed my expression. "What is it?"
"I… I don't know yet," I admitted, my stomach twisting. "But this doesn't feel routine. Something's changing, and I don't know what it is."
The cozy warmth of Joyce's kitchen suddenly felt smaller. Outside, a new challenge was waiting—and I could feel, deep down, that no
thing would be simple from now on.