The next morning, sunlight filtered through the thin cracks in the shack's wooden walls, painting streaks of gold across the dusty floor. I stirred first, out of habit—Anne the provider, the protector, the alarm clock.
But something was different.
There was the smell of food.
I blinked, sat up fast, heart racing. Was I dreaming?
"Morning," Mr. Philip's voice came from outside. I peeked through the door.
He was crouched over a small fire, flipping something in a pan. Eggs. Real eggs. And bread, slightly burnt at the edges, but it looked like a feast to me.
Emily and Josh stumbled out behind me, rubbing sleep from their eyes. The second they saw breakfast, their faces lit up.
"Is this... for us?" Josh asked, like he couldn't quite believe it.
Mr. Philip grinned. "Of course it is. Sit down."
We sat together, the four of us, cross-legged on the dirt outside the shack. Emily giggled when she bit into warm bread. Josh hummed through every bite. I just watched them, memorizing their smiles.
After breakfast, Mr. Philip stood, brushing his hands off. "We're not staying here," he said. "Not anymore."
My heart skipped. "What do you mean?"
He looked around at the rundown shack, then back at me. "You've done enough surviving, Anne. It's time you started living."
I didn't know what to say. Hope hurt when you'd been without it too long.
"I found a small house," he added. "It's not much, but it has a roof that doesn't leak, beds, a real kitchen... and a school nearby for the kids."
Emily gasped. "We can go to school?"
Mr. Philip nodded.
Josh jumped to his feet, eyes wide. "Really?!"
I was silent, heart pounding. This felt too good. Too fast. Too fragile.
"I don't want charity," I said quietly.
"It's not," Mr. Philip replied. "It's a second chance—for all of us."
And that was the moment I realized: maybe... just maybe... we could start over.
We didn't have much to pack—just a few threadbare clothes, some chipped cups, and a ragged blanket that smelled like smoke and rain. But it was ours. It was what we'd survived with.
Mr. Philip loaded our things into the back of an old truck he'd borrowed. Emily clutched her stuffed rabbit—the one toy she'd kept through everything. Josh kept asking if the new house had windows. Real ones.
I stood at the doorway of the shack one last time, staring into the emptiness we were leaving behind. This place had been cruel, but it had also been our shelter. Our battlefield. Our proof that we had endured.
"You ready?" Mr. Philip asked gently.
I looked at him, at the kids already in the truck, and nodded. "Yeah."
The drive was quiet. Emily dozed off with her head on my shoulder. Josh counted trees. I stared at the road, wondering what kind of home could be waiting for people like us.
When we arrived, I almost didn't believe it.
The house was enormous—elegant stone walls, tall windows, a sprawling yard with manicured lawns. It looked like something out of a fairy tale, too grand for the likes of us. A mansion, not a home for people who had once slept on the floor of a shack. I stood frozen in place, my heart hammering in my chest.
"Is this… really ours?" I whispered.
Mr. Philip smiled, his eyes warm. "It is. I didn't want you to just survive, Anne. You and your siblings deserve more than that."
I took a slow, steadying breath, trying to take it all in. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to hope.
"It's perfect," I whispered.
He nodded, watching me carefully. "It's yours now. No more struggle. No more surviving. You can live here. Truly live."
I stepped forward, my hand trembling as I reached for the door handle. I turned it slowly, opening the door to the beginning of something I never thought would be possible.