Emilie

Kian

"Have they contacted you recently, mam?" I asked, buttering her toast before settling it in front of her with her tea. "You know, to see Emi? It's been awhile..I miss her."

My words hung in the air for a moment as I watched her take a sip from her mug. She didn't immediately respond, her gaze fixed on the swirling steam coming off her tea, but I could tell she'd heard me.

Emilie- Emi- Holland, my little sister. It had been months since she'd been taken into care, and it still felt like a raw wound every time I thought about it. My heart ached when I thought of her, alone in a strange house with strangers, trying to make sense of a world she shouldn't have had to deal with at her age.

I hadn't seen her in months. I missed her laugh, the way she'd always get into trouble by asking too many questions. She was so full of life, so innocent, and it killed me knowing that she was out there and I couldn't be the one to protect her anymore.

Mam had never fully recovered after everything went wrong. It was too much for her—raising us, taking care of everything. She had been struggling for a long time, but no one really noticed until it was too late. They said it was better for Emi that she went into care, that she needed a stable environment, and that I was old enough to stay at home, fend for myself.

I didn't agree with them. I felt like I should've gone with her. I would've done anything to keep her close, to take care of her the way I should have.

I swallowed hard, but Mam didn't look up. She was still staring at her tea, her lips pressed tightly together.

"Not yet," she murmured, her voice quiet, almost distant. "They haven't called me about her lately."

I could tell it wasn't the answer I'd hoped for, but it was what I expected. Mam wasn't really in touch with the system anymore. She'd tried at first, but the calls had become fewer and fewer. I wasn't sure if she'd given up on keeping in contact or if she'd just felt too broken to try.

The silence between us stretched long, and I felt the weight of it pressing down on my shoulders. I didn't know how to fix things, how to make it better for her or for me, but I wanted to do something. I couldn't just sit here, feeling helpless, knowing Emi was out there and I had no way of reaching her.

I pushed my plate aside, my stomach turning with the uneaten toast, and leaned back in my chair, staring out the window. "I hate it, mam. I hate not knowing if she's okay, if they're taking care of her. It's like she's gone, you know? Like she's not even part of this family anymore."

Mam's fingers trembled slightly as she set her cup down, and I finally saw her eyes flicker toward me. There was something there—a mixture of guilt and sadness—but she didn't say anything for a long while.

"I know," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "I miss her too. More than you know."

I nodded, swallowing hard to keep the lump in my throat from growing. I wanted to tell her that I understood, that I knew she was trying her best, but the words stuck. Everything felt broken, and no one seemed to know how to fix it.

"Do you think we'll ever get her back?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she took a deep breath and stood, walking over to the sink to rinse out her cup. I could tell she was struggling with the question, trying to figure out how to answer in a way that wouldn't crush me.

"I don't know, Kian," she said softly. "I really don't."

The finality of her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had been holding onto the hope, the tiny sliver of possibility, that maybe things would get better. Maybe one day, we could be whole again. But now, with her answer hanging in the air between us, I felt that hope slipping away.

I stood up, feeling the anger start to bubble up, the frustration of not being able to do anything to change things. "I just wish I could go to her, you know? Take care of her. But I'm too old. People don't care about sixteen-year-olds."

Mam flinched, her shoulders sagging under the weight of my words. I didn't mean to hurt her, but I couldn't stop myself. I felt so angry, so powerless. I had to leave before I said anything more that would make her feel worse.

"I'm going out," I muttered, heading toward the door.

Mam didn't stop me. She didn't say anything at all. I didn't blame her. She was as lost as I was, and we both knew it.

The door slammed behind me, the cold air hitting me like a slap. I needed to get out, to clear my head, to stop thinking about everything that was out of my control. But no matter how far I went, I couldn't escape the thought of Emi, the emptiness of her absence.

I didn't know what the future held, or if I'd ever get her back, but one thing was for sure—I wasn't going to stop trying.

The streets felt cold under my feet, the wind biting at my skin as I walked aimlessly, trying to clear my mind. The city was buzzing with its usual noise, but I was somewhere else—lost in my own thoughts, trying to make sense of everything. The knot in my stomach wouldn't loosen. My sister. Emi. I couldn't get her out of my head.

I had no idea how long I'd been walking, but my phone vibrating in my pocket broke my trance.

I pulled it out, seeing it was a call from Mam.

"Hello?" I answered, trying to sound normal, though the worry from earlier was still tangled up in my chest.

"Kian," Mam's voice came through the phone, tense, like she was holding something back. "They called me. The social workers... they said they want to do a home visit."

My heart skipped a beat. Home visit. The words hit me like a hammer. "Wait—what? Why?"

She took a deep breath, and I could hear the nervous edge to her voice. "They said it's part of the process... to see if it's possible for you to have Emi back. They want to make sure things are... stable. That we can provide for her."

I felt a rush of emotions hit me all at once—hope, fear, guilt. Hope, because this might be the chance we'd been waiting for. Fear, because we hadn't exactly been living a picture-perfect life, and who knew how they'd judge us. Guilt, because I knew deep down it wasn't going to be easy for Mam. She was already struggling.

"When is it?" I asked, my voice a little shakier than I intended.

"Tomorrow," Mam answered, her voice soft but firm. "They're coming tomorrow afternoon."

I felt my stomach drop. Tomorrow. I wasn't prepared for this. We weren't prepared for this.

"I need you to come home, Kian," Mam continued. "I can't do this on my own. We need to clean up the house, make it look... presentable. I can't have them thinking we're not ready for Emi."

I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind racing. I didn't want to go back home. Not yet. Not when everything felt so heavy. But I knew I had no choice.

"Okay," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I'll be home soon."

I hung up without another word, the weight of what was coming crashing down on me. A home visit. They wanted to see if we were good enough for Emi. And it was on us to prove we could be. I wanted to believe we could do it, but I knew how much work we had ahead of us—and how fragile it all was.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and turned around, heading back toward the flat. The walk back felt like it took hours. My thoughts were tangled with doubt. How could I make this work? How could we convince them that we were stable when everything felt so broken?

By the time I reached the flat, the anxiety was almost suffocating. I opened the door to find Mam sitting on the couch, her eyes downcast, hands clenched tightly in her lap.

"Where do we start?" I asked, trying to sound calm even though everything inside me was screaming.

Mam looked up at me, her face drawn with worry but also a kind of determination I hadn't seen in a while. "We start with cleaning, Kian. The house needs to look like a home. I can't do it alone."

I nodded, already feeling overwhelmed. "I'll help. We'll do it together."

We got to work immediately, cleaning up the flat, trying to make everything as neat as possible. But as the hours passed, I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how much we scrubbed and organized, we weren't going to be good enough. We weren't the picture-perfect family they probably expected, and the thought of that made my chest tighten.

Mam was doing her best, but I could tell it was taking a toll on her. Her movements were slow, tired, like the weight of the past few months was bearing down on her with every motion.

"I'll take care of the dishes," I told her, stepping in when I noticed her shoulders slumping.

She smiled faintly, grateful for the help. "Thanks, Kian. I know you're doing your best, but I just... I don't want them to think I've failed Emi."

"You haven't," I said quietly, my voice soft but firm. "You haven't failed her, Mam. We'll make this work. We'll do it for Emi."

She nodded, but the doubt was still there in her eyes. I could feel it, like an invisible wall between us.

By the time we finished, the flat looked presentable, but it didn't feel like home. It felt cold and empty. I wanted so much for it to be different, for Emi to come back, for us to be a real family again. But I knew we weren't there yet.

The visit tomorrow was our chance. And I wasn't going to let it slip away.

I just had to figure out how to make them see that we were ready.

The house was as clean as it was going to get. The dust was wiped away, the dishes stacked neatly, and even the bathroom smelled faintly of bleach, not that I thought anyone would notice. Mam had done her best, and I'd pitched in, but I could still see the exhaustion in her eyes. We were both running on fumes now.

The front door creaked open, and I immediately knew who it was. The loud slam of boots on the floor followed by the familiar voice of my father.

"Home," Dad called out, a bit too loudly, like he was trying to make an entrance. He shuffled inside, throwing his jacket over the back of the chair. I felt my jaw tighten as I heard him move toward the living room.

"Shane, can you please be careful? We've cleaned up in here," Mam said, her voice just above a whisper but still tinged with that weary edge.

But it was too late.

I turned around just as he walked in, his muddy boots dragging the earth from wherever he'd been. Without a second thought, he swung his legs up onto the freshly cleaned coffee table, scattering dirt and leaving streaks of brown across the glass surface.

"Jesus, Shane!" Mam gasped, her hands flying up to her face. I could feel my own frustration rise, and my fists clenched at my sides.

"Shut up, will you?" Shane mumbled, kicking off his boots and letting them land heavily on the floor. He glanced around, apparently oblivious to the tension that was building. "It's just dirt, isn't it?"

"No, it's not just dirt," Mam said, taking a deep breath and trying to keep her voice steady. "We've been cleaning all day for the visit tomorrow. We need to make a good impression."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Da grunted, but his tone was dismissive. He didn't seem to care about any of it, not really.

I couldn't hold back anymore. "Why do you always do this?" I snapped, turning toward him, my voice rising more than I meant it to. "You can't even respect the one thing we've worked hard for. You've been gone all day, and we've been busting our asses to get this place ready, and you just—"

"Keep your voice down, Kian," Mam interrupted, but her eyes were pleading, like she was already exhausted from the back-and-forth that was inevitable with my father.

But I couldn't stop. The anger was boiling inside me, and the frustration was too much. "I'm sick of this. You don't care. You never do. You're never here when we need you, but you waltz in, throw your boots around, and act like we should just be grateful."

Dad turned his head toward me, his face hardening. "Watch your mouth, Kian," he warned, his tone low, almost threatening.

I felt my heart racing, my chest tightening as the tension between us spiked. Mam was silent, her face drawn in worry as she looked between the two of us.

"Is this really the time?" she said quietly, trying to keep the peace. "We need to focus on tomorrow. Can we not do this now, please?"

I bit my lip, my hands shaking slightly. I knew Mam was right. This wasn't the time. But everything felt too much in that moment. "I just... I just want us to get it right. I don't want Emi to think we can't make things work."

There was a long pause. Da didn't respond at first. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Finally, he shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. "You think I don't care, Kian? I've been out doing what I need to, trying to keep things together. I don't have time for your drama."

Mam sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before looking back at me. "We're all just stressed, love. Can we not make it worse? Please?"

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I couldn't keep fighting with Shane like this—not when everything was on the line.

"Fine," I muttered, my tone softening. "But you need to stop acting like everything's okay when it's not."

He shot me a glance but didn't say anything more. Instead, he dragged his boots over to the corner of the room, away from the table.

Mam nodded gratefully at me, but I could still see the worry in her eyes. It wasn't just the cleaning. It wasn't just Shane. It was everything—the uncertainty, the fear of being judged tomorrow.

"I'll make us some tea," Mam said quietly, heading toward the kettle, clearly trying to distract herself. "Just... try not to make things worse, okay?"

I nodded, my anger simmering down as I dropped onto the couch. My mind was still a mess, but I knew I had to put it aside for the moment. Tomorrow was everything. If we didn't get it right, I couldn't bear to think about what would happen to Emi.

Sad dropped into his chair with a grunt, turning on the TV without another word. It felt like he was shutting everything out, just as he always did.

But I couldn't afford to shut it out. Not anymore.

Tomorrow was coming, and we had to be ready.