The sun had barely risen, but Ari’s eyes were already wide open. Her mind was a battlefield of noise, constant, unyielding.

The worries, the doubts, the expectations. They never stopped. And now, with each passing day, it seemed like she was getting further away from any hope of peace.

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand: 5:47 a.m.

She had been lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her own thoughts. They were suffocating, curling into her lungs like smoke that refused to clear.

What am I doing?

The question had no answer. It hung in the air, unanswered and unresolved.

Ari pushed herself out of bed, her body stiff and reluctant. The weight of another day pressed down on her as she shuffled into the small bathroom.

She caught her reflection in the mirror for a moment before quickly looking away.

The young woman in the glass didn’t look like the person she thought she was. She looked tired—too tired for someone her age.

Her eyes were hollow, her skin pale. The stress, the constant feeling of being pulled in a thousand directions; it was all written in her face.

It wasn’t just her body that felt broken. It was her spirit. Her mind. All of it was caving in on itself.

“Mom,” Ari whispered to herself,

“how much longer can I keep this up?”

Her mother’s health had taken a turn for the worse. She had been in and out of the hospital more times than Ari could count. Every time, there was a new diagnosis, a new medication, a new procedure to pay for. The financial burden weighed on Ari’s shoulders like a mountain, and she felt its sharp edges every single day.

The silence in the apartment was deafening. She was alone, for now. Her brother, Ryan, was off somewhere; probably causing trouble, as he always did.

Her sisters, Kim and Tessa, were either too busy with their own lives or too consumed by their own struggles to notice Ari’s silent battle. It wasn’t that they didn’t care. It was that they didn’t understand. No one did.

Ari opened the fridge, but there was nothing inside worth eating. Just the remnants of leftovers that had gone cold and forgotten. She grabbed a bottle of water and sat at the small kitchen table, staring out the window at the world she felt so disconnected from.

The familiar nagging voice of her mother echoed in her mind.

“Why haven’t you found a job yet? You’re just sitting here, wasting your time.”

Ari hated it. She hated the constant pressure, the endless reminders that she was never enough.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help. She did. But the more she tried, the more exhausted she became. The more she felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t keep up with the never-ending demands.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts.

It was a text from Kim.

"I need you to pick up the kids after school today. I have an appointment."

Ari stared at the message for a moment, the weight of it sinking into her chest. Another responsibility. Another task. Another thing that she didn’t have the mental energy to deal with. She was already running on empty, but there it was; another obligation to fulfill, another expectation to meet.

Ari's fingers hovered over the screen as she typed a response, then deleted it. She was too tired to argue. Too tired to even care anymore.

“Okay,” she finally typed, pressing send.

“I’ll be there.”

She dropped the phone onto the table, her eyes drifting back to the window.

The sun was rising higher now, but the light seemed distant, as if it didn’t quite belong in her world.

She had once dreamed of something more; something beyond the confines of this small apartment and the crushing weight of her family’s needs. But those dreams had faded. They felt so far away now, like they belonged to someone else.

The sound of a door opening snapped her out of her thoughts. It was her mother, shuffling into the living room, her frail form draped in a robe.

Her face was tired, lined with the exhaustion of a life spent fighting against the body’s inevitable decline.

“Ari,” her mother said weakly,

“could you help me with the bills? I don’t think I can do it this month.”

Ari closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. The pressure was mounting again, crushing her chest.

She could feel the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. There was no escape from it.

“Okay, I’ll take care of it,” Ari said, her voice flat. She didn’t have the energy to say more words anymore.

Her mother gave her a grateful smile, but Ari could see the worry behind her eyes. The constant fear that had always been there. Fear of not having enough, fear of losing everything, fear of never being able to give her children a better life.

It wasn’t fair.

Ari wasn’t sure when the last time was that she had felt truly seen; truly heard.

Her family had expectations of her, demands she couldn’t fulfill, and no matter how much she tried to meet them, it never seemed to be enough. The harder she worked, the more they piled on. And the worse it made her feel.

Ari stood up and walked to the living room. She could feel the familiar weight of it all, bearing down on her like a hundred ton of bricks. Each one labeled with something she had to fix, something she had to take care of.

But she couldn’t. She didn’t have the strength.

Her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts again.

“Ari, are you okay?”

Ari turned, giving a quick, unconvincing smile.

"I’m fine, Mom. Just... sleepy.”

But she wasn’t fine. She was never fine. She hadn’t been fine for a long time. And the longer she tried to pretend otherwise, the deeper the emptiness inside her grew.

“Maybe it’s time you consider getting a real job…” her mother said, her voice softer now, as if tiptoeing around a wound she couldn’t see but somehow sensed.

Her mother hesitated, then continued,

“I’m not trying to pressure you, sweetheart. Really, I’m not. It’s just… a reminder. Writing all day, those stories you make, it’s good. It’s beautiful, actually. It’s your passion. Your gift.” She sighed, a tired sound that made Ari’s stomach twist.

“But earning one-hundred dollars a month won’t be enough for you forever. I only worry because… if I’m not here one day, who’s going to look after you? Who’s going to help you or pay full attention to you the way I can?”

Ari’s hands curled into fists, the tremble in her fingers betraying her. Frustration burned hot in her chest, not at her mother, not really, but at herself. At the world. At the way everything seemed too heavy and she couldn’t admit why.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell her mother everything; how angry she was, how tired she felt, how empty she had become. How every day felt like dragging herself through fog, pretending she was functioning when she barely was. She wanted to say it. But wanting and doing were oceaens apart.

So she swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her voice to steady. She nodded, biting down on her lip so hard she tasted iron.

“I will, Mom. I promise,” she said.

And she hated how easy the lie came out.