Amelia found herself walking alone through the camp, her mind heavy with the weight of everything she had seen and heard. Her frustration simmered beneath the surface, and for the first time in days, she was grateful for the solitude. She needed a moment to think.

Amelia sat on the edge of the makeshift camp, her eyes distant as the chaos of the refugee center continued around her. She had just spent hours coordinating logistics, checking supplies, ensuring people were fed, and now the weight of it all pressed down on her. The tent she sat in was poorly constructed, sagging in places, its fabric thin against the wind. She felt a presence before she heard him—a man, standing too close. His breath was hot on her neck reeking from booze as he made an inappropriate remark.

"Must be nice for you, huh? To sit here, while we’re stuck out here like animals."

Amelia flinched, her heart racing. She turned quickly, standing up, but he blocked her path. His eyes were cold, but there was something in his tone—entitled, demanding.

"You’ve got everything. Your house, your food... your comfort," he continued. "We’re out here, freezing and hungry, and you act like it’s just... normal."

Her throat tightened, and her hands shook, but she forced herself to meet his gaze, voice cold and steady. “I didn’t make this happen. I didn’t ask for any of this either.”

But he wasn’t listening. “You think you’re better than us. Just because you’ve got money... because you have a house. Since you are such a saint. You won't mind giving us more then just some food and shelter"

He slowly approached her. With every step he took she took one back until she felt a tree blocking her way. With a grin he says.

"Maybe there's another need you could fulfill for me. Would serve you right letting me live in this shit-hole" While he reached for her.

Amelia’s breath caught, her mind spiraling as she felt the anger, the helplessness, the overwhelming sadness of the situation all at once. Before she could respond, Clara’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and protective.

"Get away from her.”

Clara stepped in front of Amelia, her stance firm. She came to look at the tent that needed fixing when she saw Amelia and this strange man. The man hesitated, then scoffed, turning away. Amelia's legs gave out, and she sat down hard on the floor, suddenly exhausted.

Clara knelt beside her, concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Amelia wiped a hand over her face, shaking her head. “Why does he think... we owe him everything? We’re all stuck in this mess. But I didn’t create it. I can’t fix it all. I didn’t ask for any of this.” She whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Clara placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Am. They’re just angry. They’re hurting. And some of them—well, they think we can fix everything. But we can’t.”

Amelia looked up at her friend, the tears stinging her eyes. "But they don’t see that. They just see everything I have... and nothing else.”

Clara sighed, her eyes soft with sympathy. “I know. But that’s their pain talking. They’re desperate. They don’t know how else to express it.”

Amelia clenched her fists. "They’re not all like that. But some of them... they don’t get it. They just see a chance to blame someone who’s got more than they do. I’m doing what I can, but it’s never enough."

Clara looked down, then glanced around at the others who were starting to gather, frustrated voices muttering in the distance. "Amelia, it’s not about you. It’s about them surviving. They’re not angry at you—they’re angry because they feel powerless. They’re mad because the world isn’t fair."

“But it’s not my fault it’s unfair,” Amelia shot back. "I didn’t make this storm. I didn’t ask for any of this to happen. I don’t owe them anything.”

Clara took a deep breath. "I know you didn’t. But they feel like they’ve got nothing else left to hold on to. And sometimes, when people are desperate, they lash out at the ones who they think could change things."

Amelia clenched her jaw. “I can’t keep carrying their pain. I’m barely holding myself together.”

Clara stood up and helped Amelia to her feet. "You don’t have to carry it all, Am. You don’t have to fix everything. You just need to keep doing what you can. That’s all anyone can do."

But as Clara’s words sank in, Amelia couldn’t shake the sense of frustration and guilt. She wasn’t their savior. She was just one person in a world that had failed them all.

***

Amelia stormed into the house, her frustration with the camp and the refugees boiling over. She had to talk to her father. 

"Amelia?" He greeted her, looking up from his desk. His voice was steady and calm.

"Dad, I can't do it anymore," she said, her voice raw with emotion. "I'm done. No matter how much we give, it's never enough. They don't care. They just take."

Her father set his papers down, his eyes searching her face. "I know it's hard. But that's the reality. There's no glory in helping people who always need help. They rely on us because they have nothing else. It's a cycle—one that doesn’t end."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "I made my choice, Amelia. My responsibility is to our family. I help those I can, when I can, but I don’t take on the whole world’s problems. You’re learning that now."

"But Dad—"

He stood, walking toward her with quiet resolve. "You’ve chosen to carry this burden. You can’t just walk away because it’s tough. We don't quit when things get hard. You took this on. You’ve got to finish what you started."

Her chest tightened as she processed his words. It was as if her father had just confirmed her worst fear—that this would never end. That the cycle of giving would always be endless.

"You’re stronger than this," he added, his voice softening just a touch. "You’re capable. You can’t quit. Not now."

Amelia felt the weight of his words settle in her bones. She wasn’t sure what hurt more—the frustration of feeling so trapped, or the knowledge that, like her father, she would never truly be able to stop giving towards these ungrateful bastards.

Amelia stepped quietly into the kitchen, finding her mother stirring a pot over the stove. The familiar sound of sizzling vegetables filled the room, but it barely registered in Amelia’s mind. She had walked away from the camp again, needing some space to breathe. The frustration of the day had overwhelmed her, leaving her with nothing but a gnawing sense of defeat.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this," Amelia said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands trembled slightly as she held onto the back of a chair. “It feels like... no matter how much we help, it’s never enough.”

Her mother paused, setting the spoon down and turning to her with a calm, knowing look. She could see the exhaustion in Amelia’s eyes—the way the weight of the world was threatening to crush her. The quiet moments had become rarer, the burden of responsibility ever heavier.

"You don’t have to carry the whole world, Amelia," her mother replied gently, walking over and guiding her into a seat. She sat next to her daughter, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We all have our limits. You’re doing what you can, and that's enough."

Amelia felt her mother’s warmth and it almost broke her. She looked down at her lap, the words catching in her throat. "But... I’m not enough. I can’t fix everything, and they just keep asking for more. It’s like they don’t even care."

Her mother’s hand pressed softly against her back, and her voice was quiet but firm. "Amelia, it’s not about fixing everything. You can’t solve the world's problems, not alone. All you can do is offer what you can, and that’s more than enough for those who see it. You’re not responsible for their pain."

The words sank into Amelia’s chest, but there was still a tightness in her heart. Her mother’s understanding was a balm, but it didn’t erase the frustration that gnawed at her.

"You don’t owe them more than what you’ve given," her mother continued, her gaze steady. "They might not see it now, but that doesn’t change the truth. You’ve been doing this for a reason, but you can’t lose yourself in it."

Amelia let out a shaky breath, a mixture of relief and continued uncertainty. She wanted to believe her mother, to embrace the comfort that was being offered. But her heart still ached, caught between wanting to help and feeling so... unseen. Still, with her mother there, her presence like a gentle reminder, Amelia felt her anxiety ease, even if just a little.

“Thanks,” she whispered, her voice still trembling. She didn’t know if she had the strength to keep going, but she would try. She had to.