A green Kia passes through the suburbs, moving silently compared to the gusts of wind around it. It’s aged bumper stickers and rust coated the lower half. A young girl sits quietly in the back, her blue eyes reflected the light flurries outside. Her breath producing condensation on the window above her.

“Good Afternoon Erie, PA. Make sure get on home as the weather continues to-ppffz-,” the announcer states, cutting out before it could finish. It's analogue controls when snowfall came.

Cleo turns her head as she approaches an intersection. The trees had became bare and church nearby looked lifeless. “Abby, do you know why mom didn’t pick you up today?” she said, wearing her work attire from earlier. Baked bread and grease covered her JoJo’s Pizza logo, and her new Nokia 3310 became coated in grime.

“Dunno,” Abby said, laying her head against the window, stretching her silly bands around her arm. The teenager sighs, her dry, red hair hanging over her face.

“The medication’s making her drowsy again,” Cleo said, clutching part of her forehead. At home, the chipped paint and unshoveled snow, stood out like every morning. Once inside, the two walk into the foyer to be greeted by their clutter of hats, coats, and scarfs that had remained untouched from the morning. “Mom didn’t even clean,” she remarked, picking up her sister’s stuffed build-a-bears scattered throughout the family room. With her hand full of stuffed bears, she lowers herself to Abby, “Go do your homework, I’ll find mom.”

“But Cleo!” Abby cries, straightening her arms in protest.

“I’ll find her to give you help,” Cleo states, walking up the staircase. At her mother’s door, the fresh dust covered the knob as its touch gave a chill. Once inside, the smell of burning candle filled the room. Cleo turns on a small bed lamp to lighten the still air. The artificial light yellow tint filled the room and made the red painted room appear orange. With a full sense of sight, Cleo could see the aged hardwood walls, the drafty curtain that hangs over every window, and her mother buried within a pillow appeared; and a small assortment of pills not too far behind.

Her hair looked like a dangling string in a form of bangs. Her skin felt like chipped paint; falling apart at the seams.

But her fingertips were blue and her arm appeared plae.

“Oh shit,” exclaimed Cleo, hushing her voice as to not call attention to her sister. She reaches for her mother’s frail hand, checking for a pulse.

Bump... …Bump… ….Bump…

‘She has one’ she thought to herself, running out into the master bath to reach the cabinet. Their mother had currently been taking over 15 different types of medication, but only one remained untouched: a shot of adrenaline. Labeled in neon-yellow it read: Last Resort, do not use unless absolutely necessary. She takes hold of the medication and heads off to her mother to forcefully injects a dose to her arm.

“That’ll buy me time,” stated Cleo, setting the medication onto the nightstand. Without another thought she reaches for her cell. ‘God dammit, don't die on me now,’ she said to herself, pulling up the emergency number. With her hand quiver, like an earthquake erupting at the press of each key.

Ring… Ring… Ring.. Ring…

“Come on… answer,” Cleo said to herself, her breath fades into nothing while the rolling of her stomach intensified.

“911, what’s your emergency?” stated the operator.

“Yes my mom unconscious,” Cleo says, pacing around the bedroom, “she’s has leukemia; I just injected some adrenaline she told me to use if this were to ever happen.”

“Okay then, what’s your location miss?” said the operator.

“7113 Belmont Road in Fairfield.” Cleo answered, checking on her mother vitals periodically.

“I’m sending an ambulance out now, they’ll get to you as soon as they can, just know the snow storm is gonna slow us down significantly.”

A sigh of relief came over Cleo, “Thank you,” she stutters out, holding down her chest to control her breathing. She then came to the other side of the bed to lay down.

“No problem sweetie,” said the operator, “Are there anyone else in your home?”

“My 5 year old sister,” Cleo answered, getting up to peek outside the door to make sure she stayed downstairs, “she doesn't know about any of this yet.”

“Okay, then I something to ask of you.”

“What’s that?” Cleo asked, lowering herself back down to the end of the bed.

“Even after the first responders gets there, your baby sister is gonna need someone to look up to,” the operator stated, “I want you to be there for her.”

A silence fell over Cleo. She’d not given the outcome much thought. She knew it meant she’d have to become something more than a sister: A surrogate mother.

“I don’t know about being her mother but, I’ll be there for her.”

“That's good to hear regar-” the calls cuts out. Flipping around her phone, revealed the phone to be lifeless.

“Dammit,” said Cleo, tossing the phone across the floor. Peering through the dim lighting, she finds her mother's smartphone buried beneath the medication on the nightstand. ‘I don’t know her password,” said Cleo, going through multiple passwords hoping any would work.

None of them work.

“And my charger’s in my car, but I have to keep in check with mom until help arrives,’ Cleo thought to herself in frustration. She drags her head down the door frame. “Fuck,” she whispers, locking her arms in place over her face, “fuck, fuck, fuck fuc-”

“I don’t remembering teaching you those words.”

A faint body shuffles, and finger reach out over Cleo hair. Their mother had awakened. Cleo gasps, carefully sending her arms around her mother. While embracing, her mother glanced over to her arm to see the injection marks made on her. In the distance, she saw a needle that had been recently used laying on the floor next to the nightstand.

“You used adrenaline,” the mother stated, as her hoarse voice crackled. She glided her hand across her eldest daughter causing her eyes water, “Then I guess it's time.”

“Don’t say that!” Cleo cries, “You can still fight.”

A weak smile formed on the mother face. She glances over the medication on her bedside. “That shot you gave me means I’m not able to support my own body without help,” she said, rubbing the bruise made from the shot, “my time is near.”

“Don't’ sa-”

Cleo gets cut off by the door slamming open to a short 5 year old with blonde bangs whose shoes were also mismatched. “Mom!” she exclaims, marching into the room. “Are you gonna help me with this homework or not?” Her arm’s shot up, holding papers together with a pin. She enters the room, joining Cleo along their mother’s bedside.

“Cleo will help you in a little bit,” their mother answered, gesturing to Cleo to comply.

“But she bad at math.” whined Abby, slumping over the news.

“Hey,” Cleo exclaimed.

The mother bouds a faint chuckle, “No, she's right,” she states, “you never a future in math.” Cleo lets out a quiet groan.

“I’ll be with you in little,” said Cleo, lowering down to her sibling height, “I may not be the best at math, but I’m certainly better than you.” Leaning on a knee, Cleo pokes the tip Abby nose.

“Hmpt!” Abby cries, “fine,” she states in protest, storming downstairs.

A sigh of relief came over the two. Both did not want the kid to continue staying in the room.

“Feeling any better?” Cleo asks, checking on her mother's pulse, “it seems like help’s taking their sweet ass time.” The mother looks across to lone bedroom window; the flurries from before had become a hurricane of white.

“It is a problem,” she states choking through her words, “but not the only problem I have to deal with.”

“Like what?”

“Like you.”

Cleo winces at the thought, shutting her eyes and clutching her fist as she lowering herself to the ground. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“A mother's gonna worry,” she said, “Who's going to take care of Abby?” Cleo sat emotionless, unwilling to move or speak. “Pretty soon, she’ll be the only family you have left and all she’ll have is you.”

“There’s a good chance we’ll be separated by foster care, I’d only be there for six months, but Abby’s childhood would be spent with a family other than her own,” said Cleo, pondering the possibility, twiddling her thumbs haphazardly. “Or we’ll have to start living with our father in Montana.”

Disappointment fell over the mother, “Well, I don’t think that's the right answer.”

“It’s the only options we have,” states Cleo, interrupting her mother. Walking over to her mom’s side, hanging her head in defeat.

“Not exactly.”

“What else is there?” asked Cleo, as she starts to get back on her feet. The mother straightens up as much as she can, extending hand back to her daughter.

“I have no right to ask you of this,” she said, gripping Cleo’s hand, “but if you could try, and become the mother I never was for Abigail.” Her voice, which had been waiting had summoned the strength for one last plea.

“What?”

“Watch over your sister for me,” she asked, “can you promise me that?” Cleo’s hands drifted away and started to rub her hands. Stepping back to the create distance.

“I’m not ready,” Cleo admits, “I can barely help Abby with her math, what makes you think I could take your place?”

“Do you love her?”

“Yeah, so what does that have to do with any of this?” questioned Cleo, crossing her arms as she avoids eye contact.

“Because that's the most important part of being a mother,” she said, grinning from the answer Cleo gave, “You are ready, whether. it's your little sister or one of your own, you can handle this.” Cleo’s hand shook like tremors. “Cleopatra, can you promise me that?”

“I promise.”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

A distant howl of a man could be heard: help had finally arrived. Cleo stumbled through her steps and down the stairs to meet the first responder. The teen opened the door to find two men, a stretcher, and an absolute white out behind them.

“She’s awake and upstairs to the right,” Cleo said, pointing to the stair top.

“Do you think she can support her own weight?” asked the man in front, wearing beige scrubs.

“She only awake because I gave her a shot of adrenaline, so I doubt it,” Cleo answers, thinking back to check if she’d missed a detail.

“Thanks,” The two men shout as they head upstairs with their gear. The frantic footstep filled the air as the men made way to their destination.

A small tug is felt from the back of Cleo shirt.

“What was that all about?” whimpered the small girl. The animated Cleo from before had become straight faced. Bending down to eye level with her sibling. Placing her arms on her shoulders.

“Mom’s sick.”

“How sick?”

“If we want her to get better, she’ll has to go to the hospital.” Cleo states, laying down only essential information. She doesn't want to overwhelm the five year old, or give too much away to the real situation.

“Isn’t that where people go to die?” asked Abby, now slightly stirling back and forth.

“Yes, you’re right,” said Cleo, “but it's also where people get healthy again.”

“Do you think mom’s going to die?” Abby asked, leaning in on her sister’s shoulder.

“Abby, I can’t answer that,” Cleo admits, fiddling with her sister’s hair. A smirk comes off of Abby’s face.

“You sounded like mom there,” she jokes, as she takes a small step back. “I think,” she starts, “thats mom’s going to be okay.” Abby’s optimism in the face of loss brought the only thing Cleo thought she couldn’t at a time like this: smile.

“I think I’d like to believe that too.”