Amelia barely had time to catch her breath when she arrived back at the house, Clara still beside her, soaking wet. The tension in the air was palpable as the front door slammed open. 

“Where have you been?” her father’s voice boomed from the study, his face tight with fury. “You didn’t even take your phone!” 

Amelia winced, the reality of her secret mission crashing over her. She had sneaked out, breaking his trust, and now he was livid. But even as he scolded her, his mind was already half elsewhere. 

“I’ve got to deal with the construction crews,” he muttered, pacing. “The government’s on the line, and there’s no time to waste. Flooded areas need immediate attention.” He turned toward his desk, dialing a number, already shifting his focus to his business’s emergency response efforts.

Her mother, standing in the doorway, offered a softer sigh. “Let’s get Clara dried off, sweetheart. You’re safe now,” she said, her voice full of warmth as she guided Clara to the living room. Amelia followed, guilt gnawing at her, but her mother’s gentle touch eased some of the weight. 

Clara, drenched but looking somewhat comforted by the soft atmosphere, sank into the couch. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Amelia’s mother smiled kindly. “Of course, Clara. This is your home too. We’ll take care of you.” She moved to make tea, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment.

Amelia hovered by the door, watching the scene unfold. Her father was too wrapped up in his company’s demands, his focus split between business calls and keeping the company afloat amidst the flooding crisis. His anger toward her felt more like a fleeting annoyance, swallowed by the greater weight of the work he had to do. But still, the frustration lingered in Amelia’s chest.

Her mother’s quiet compassion toward Clara felt like a contrast. There was no rushing or cold anger. Just patience and care. Amelia envied that, though she knew there were greater responsibilities waiting for them both—outside these walls.

“Mom, what about the others?” Amelia asked, her voice uncertain, breaking the silence. “There are people who still need help.”

Her mother hesitated, then set the tea down. “We’ll figure that out. But right now, we need to keep Clara safe. We’ll do what we can.”

As Clara sat quietly on the couch, her soaked clothes now drying by the fire, Amelia couldn’t shake the image of the floodwaters. The faces of the people she had seen earlier—their desperation, their helplessness—kept flashing in her mind. She had come to Clara’s aid, but what about the others? The helpless children, the elderly? The ones stuck in their homes, trapped by the rising water? She had seen it all in a fleeting moment, and yet she’d done nothing for them.

Clara shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her gaze flickering toward the window. “I didn’t mean to... to be in this situation, you know?” Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. She ran her fingers nervously along the sleeve of her jacket. “I feel lucky to be here, with you, your parents... you’ve all been so kind to me, I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. But I can’t help but think of everyone else out there. They don’t have this.” She looked down. 

Clara shifted in her seat, her eyes distant as she spoke, her voice tinged with unease. “I’ve stayed here so many times, you know? I’ve loved being able to sit at your dinner table, wearing the warm clothes you buy... enjoying the comfort of all this. I’ll admit, it’s hard not to feel... lucky. But when I went back home, I heard the kids talk. They looked at me like I had something they didn’t, and I could see the envy in their eyes. They didn’t understand why I got to be here, where things are safe.”

She exhaled, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve again. “I’m really grateful for your family. For everything. But sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve it. It’s hard not to feel guilty, being here with you... knowing what it means to have friends with so much. I don’t know how to explain it, but it doesn’t feel right, either.”

Amelia’s heart sank, guilt creeping up her spine. She’d been so focused on getting Clara out, saving her, that she hadn’t been able to even think about those who weren’t in the same fortunate position. 

Her mother, overhearing the conversation, gave Clara a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s hard. We all wish we could do more, but sometimes there’s only so much we can handle in these situations.”

Clara nodded, but the frustration didn’t leave her face. “I get that, but it just feels wrong. They’re out there, struggling, and we’re here, safe. What if we could do something to help them, too?”

Amelia sat quietly, her thoughts churning. The idea of helping more people, of doing something bigger than just saving Clara, had been nagging at her for hours. She had the resources—the family’s wealth, the connections, the land—if only her father could be persuaded to help.

Her eyes drifted to her mother, who was gently reassuring Clara. Amelia felt a tightening in her chest. Could she ask her father for help? Could she convince him to extend his reach beyond just their family and the immediate circle of people he cared for? She knew how busy he was, how focused he was on his business, but there had to be something she could do. 

She glanced at Clara, who seemed lost in thought, and then at her mother, who had always been the voice of reason. Amelia wondered if it was time to make a real difference—not just for Clara, but for everyone else who was struggling out there.