The Upper West Side woke early.
Sunlight hit the brownstones in long, quiet stripes.
Street cleaners passed silently. Dog walkers followed.
A line had already formed outside the bakery down the block.
It was the kind of morning that felt predictable.
Steady.
Like it had been happening the same way for years.
Tucked between two taller buildings stood a five-story redbrick apartment.
Third floor. Apartment 3B.
The Hayes family lived there.

Apartment 3B wasn’t big.
Neither was Jaden’s room.
A twin bed took up most of it.
Next to it, a chipped desk where a scratched-up PS5 controller blinked orange on its charging cable.
Posters lined the walls—
Spider-Man mid-swing across Queens.
Ichigo Kurosaki in a blood-red sky, sword dragging behind him like he was too tired to lift it but too stubborn to fall.
A fan print of Sung Jin-Woo caught mid-shadow step, cloak curling behind glowing eyes.
A tilted shelf sagged under secondhand manga, an unopened Final Fantasy VII Remake art book, and a steel case for Elden Ring that had long since lost its disc.
A Cloud Strife figure leaned against a dusty Gundam RX-78, flanked by a half-built Evangelion Unit-01 with one arm still missing.
A cracked Akira poster hung by peeling tape on the closet door.
The GameCube under the bed hadn’t been touched in years.
The room smelled like old socks and crushed snack wrappers.
Outside, the city was already moving.
Inside, Jaden Hayes—15 years old—was still asleep.

“Jaden.”
Elise’s voice came through the door—flat, impatient, but not angry.
She’d used the same tone every morning since he was ten.
“You’re late.”

Jaden groaned into the pillow.
“Late’s subjective.”

Knock knock. Louder this time.
“Don’t make me come in.”

That did it.
He let out a sharp exhale, then sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered. “I’m up.”

In the kitchen, Elise Hayes—23 years old—stood by the stove, flipping eggs with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other.
Her blazer was already on.
Sleeves rolled.
Hair tied back in the same tight ponytail she always wore when she was in a rush.
Eggs sizzled.
She didn’t look up. Didn’t even glance at the hallway.
She already knew how this morning would go. She always did.
“Jaden’s up,” she said.

On the couch, Kenneth Hayes—17 years old—was tying his boots.
He didn’t answer right away. He rarely did.
The TV was on in front of him—muted, cycling through images of a collapsed highway somewhere overseas.
He glanced at it once, then pulled the laces tighter.
“Ten bucks says he skips breakfast again,” he said.

Elise smirked.
“Then he’s eating whatever’s been fermenting in his backpack since last week.”

Back in his room, Jaden was already pulling his hoodie over his head while hopping on one foot.
The other shoe had vanished.
Under the bed, maybe.
He didn’t have time to check.
He yanked open his closet, grabbed a half-zipped backpack that looked like it had survived a natural disaster, and shoved it over one shoulder.
No breakfast.
No deodorant.
No time.

He glanced at his phone.
7:58 A.M.
“Shit.”

He sprinted out of the room, nearly tripping over a stack of manga and the unplugged GameCube on his way out.

Jaden tore through the kitchen like he was late for a final.
“Late,” Kenneth said without looking up.
Jaden didn’t answer.
Elise didn’t pause.
She grabbed the sandwich off the counter and tossed it across the room—perfect spiral.
Jaden caught it mid-stride, hoodie half-on, bag swinging behind him.
“Thanks—love you!”
“You better,” Elise called.

The door slammed behind him. Silence.

Kenneth took another bite of cereal.
“He’s gonna forget the math homework.”
Elise poured her coffee like she’d done this a hundred times.
“I already stuffed it in his bag.”

The city was already moving.
Jaden stepped onto the sidewalk and blended in.
His backpack bounced with every step.
The sandwich bag crinkled in his hand.

He passed the usual coffee cart.
Same vendor.
Same exhausted couple picking up their order without a word.
A doorman nodded to a jogger.
A scooter kid flew by, yelling about a quiz like it was life or death.

Somewhere up above, a dog barked—sharp, consistent, like it had a routine too.

The lights shifted.
Red to green.
Jaden crossed with the crowd.
The air smelled like bagels and coffee.
A clear breeze that only spring could bring.

It was just another morning.
And nothing felt wrong.

Up ahead, two kids crossed the street.
The older one, a girl, gripped her brother’s hand tight—steady, like she’d done it a hundred times before.
The little one tripped.
She caught him.
Kept walking.

Jaden slowed a little.
Not on purpose.
Something about it felt familiar.
The pace. The shape of it.
An older sibling pulling the rest of the family behind them.

He’d seen that before. He grew up watching it.
Back then, it was Elise who held them together.

The Night Everything Changed

I was seven when it happened. There was an accident. Nobody explained much.
Just that Mom and Dad were gone.
And they weren’t coming back.

The apartment was too quiet.
It was peaceful, but it felt empty.
There were no footsteps or voices.
Mostly the sound of the old fridge humming.

People came by. Neighbors. Strangers.
Everyone spoke in low voices like we might break if they were too loud.

I kept looking at the door.
Part of me thought if I waited long enough,
Mom and Dad would walk through it.

But they didn’t.

At the funeral, Elise stood next to us, soaked through from the rain.
She looked at me.
And said:
“It’s just us now.”
That’s all she said.
She didn’t cry.
Not in front of us.

After that night, Elise took over everything.
She was fifteen. Too young to sign half the forms people kept handing her.
Too young to be anyone’s parent.
But that didn’t stop her.

She started cooking.
Messed up a lot of it.
I told her it tasted fine even when it didn’t.

She helped me with homework while still doing her own.
Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and find her passed out at the table, face down in a notebook.

She handled bills, school forms, phone calls.
All the stuff Mom used to do.
Only now it was Elise—trying to sound older over the phone so people would take her seriously.

Nobody taught her how to do any of it.
She just figured it out.
Because she had to.

I got sick that winter.
Fever, chills, couldn’t keep anything down.
I remember the room spinning every time I sat up.
Elise didn’t leave my side.
She sat by my bed for two nights straight, cooling my forehead with a washcloth, whispering:
“I’ve got you. Just rest.”

I remember another night, real late—
I got up to pee.
The hallway was dark, but the kitchen light was still on.

Elise was at the table. She wasn’t doing anything.
Just sitting there.
There were papers spread everywhere.
Some opened, some not.
Bills. I didn’t know which ones.

She was holding one, staring at it like maybe the numbers would change if she waited long enough.

She wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t moving either.
Just trying to figure out how to make what we had stretch another month.

I don’t think she saw me.
I didn’t say anything.
I just stood there for a second, then turned around and went back to bed.

She never asked for any of it.
Not the bills.
Not the late nights.
Not raising two brothers when she was still a kid herself.

But she did it anyway. No complaining.
No breaks.
No safety net.

And somehow, even with all that—
she still made it feel like home.

Jaden blinked, the memory slipping back into the corner of his mind.

The school stood in front of him.
A boxy brick building with too many windows and not enough shade.
Wide entrance. Tall trees out front.

A group of kids leaned against the railing, talking with no urgency.
Somewhere nearby, someone laughed too hard.
A girl in a uniform jacket was eating chips before the bell.
A couple kids were filming something with a phone—probably dumb. Probably loud.

It all looked the same as it always did.

Jaden stood at the edge of the crowd for a second, watching the doors swing open and closed.

He pulled the sandwich from his pocket, now slightly crushed.
Bit into it.

“I made it... barely.”

Jaden stepped through without thinking.
Just another day.

He had no idea it’d be the last normal one he’d ever get.