Young Rose pressed herself against the cold stone wall, her small frame trembling. The chill seeped through her thin dress, biting at her skin, but she barely noticed. Her focus was fixed on the faint voices drifting from beyond the barely open door. She strained to hear every word.

“It’s just not something we can do,” her father said, his voice heavy with resignation. There was a faint clink of metal—coins? Silence hung in the air before he continued. “Iris is one thing, but Rose…” His words trailed off, unfinished but cutting.

Her mother’s voice came next, gentle but firm. “Maybe you could ask the lord for help. He does owe you, after everything you’ve done for him.”

A sudden thud shattered the fragile quiet. Rose flinched as the sound reverberated through the stone walls. She could easily guess her father had slammed his hand against the table. Her heart raced as she pressed her ear closer.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” he growled, his voice low and sharp. “It’s just a missing leg. I’ve already proven I can work without it.”

Her mother’s tone tightened, edged with frustration. “You’ve proven you can try to work,” she countered. “But you haven’t met any of the quotas. And they’re not paying you what they should because of it.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Rose froze, her breath shallow, certain she’d been caught. But before she could flee, her father let out a bitter sigh. “I can provide for this family without anyone’s help,” he muttered, his voice almost pleading, as if trying to convince himself more than her.

Rose hesitated, then peeked around the corner. Her small fingers gripped the edge of the wall as she watched her father slump in his chair, his shoulders heavy with defeat. Her mother leaned toward him, cupping his cheek in her hand and gently turning his face toward hers.

“You’ve done a great job,” she said softly, her voice steady and warm, the kind of tone that could soothe even the sharpest tempers. “No one expected Rose to be a girl. But you’ve done what so many others wouldn’t. Because of you, we have two daughters who’ve grown up in a loving home,” she said, her words unwavering.

“How could we throw away the little girl?” her father’s words barely reached her. “She had your eyes.”

She wasn’t supposed to be born, to live.

“Nonsense,” her mother replied, her voice softening. They shared a quiet laugh, but it was quickly stifled.

Rose drew back sharply, pressing herself against the wall as her breath caught in her throat. Her wide eyes brimmed with tears. A buzzing sensation filled her head, drowning out everything else. Her parents’ words pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. These words confirmed the one thing she had feared ever since she turned twelve—no, even before that. Deep down, perhaps she had always known.

“It’s bad enough as it is,” her father muttered. “The only reason we’re getting by is because of the Mérofée.”

Her mother chuckled lightly, a weary sound. “That’s because the chief owes you too,” she teased. “You’d be surprised how many people would help if you just asked.”

Her father shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It was my duty. My job,” he said, his hand drifting unconsciously to the empty space where his leg ended. His voice dropped to a whisper. “My life…”

Her mother leaned closer, lifting his chin with a tender touch, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Your life is here,” she said, her tone resolute. Her eyes, steady and strong, held him in place. “With me.” She kissed him softly, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “And with both your daughters,” she added as she pulled away.

Before silence could settle, a calm voice cut through the room. “You could just buy one dress.”

Both parents turned sharply toward the stairs, where Iris stood. Her hand rested on the rail, her expression calm but determined. She stepped forward, confidence radiating from her small frame as she stood before them.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Her mother frowned, her voice gently chiding. “Honey, what are you doing here? You should be asleep.”

“I want to help,” Iris said simply.

“Lei El’ora, you don’t need to worry about this,” her mother said.

Iris shook her head firmly. “I’m not worried. We’ll make it through—we always do. But it’s Rose who suffers because of it.”

Her father bristled. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Iris replied, her tone steady. “And that’s okay, Dad. We can’t change our situation. We don’t have enough money to go around—it’s understandable. But we can decide how to handle it from now on, and this time, Rose should come first. She should have a dress.” Iris insisted.

Her mother blinked, her brow creasing in confusion. “Honey, you don't know what you're saying.”

“Of course I do, and Rose should get the ceremony dress,” Iris answers. “We don't have enough to buy two.”

“Honey, don't worry about this,” her mother said. “Go back to bed, leave this to us.”

“No, If I don't worry about it, no one will, I know You’ve been saving up quite a bit for both of us, but it's not going to happen. Take the money for my dress and use it for whatever it is this time. Save the rest for what comes next Mom, Dad, we're never going to be financially stable, but It’s her turn.”

Her father’s brows furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening as he considered her words. “The Épanflor de Vie is important for both of you,” he argued. “Yours is coming next year. We have enough money for the dress, don't worry about it, We’ll find a way to buy you both dresses.”

“No, you won’t,” Iris countered, puffing up her chest. “Instead, you’ll buy my dress and give it to her after.”

“That’s not going to happen,” her father said.

“It always does!” Before he could respond, Iris threw a burned piece of cloth onto the table. The delicate embroidery was unmistakable—a rose, singed and ruined.

Her father’s brow furrowed. “What is this?”

“The dress you bought me a few years ago,” Iris said. “The one you gave me knowing it would belong to Rose eventually.”

He frowned, staring at the charred fabric. “What happened to it?”

“What happens when you give a girl who doesn't understand what's going on. I loved that dress, it made me feel special” Iris took a deep breath. “I didn't want her to have it so I… I burned it.”

“What?”

“Honey!”

“I made mistakes,” Iris said, her voice trembling slightly. “I never considered Rose’s feelings. I was selfish.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad kid,” her mother said gently, rising to embrace her.

“And not being able to pay for both kids doesn't make you a bad adult.” Iris counted. “So please let me make it up to here this one way, okay. Let's get her the dress she deserves. If we need to I can wear it first but please give me another chance to give Rose the dress.” she looked at her father with big pleading eyes. “Please.”

His stern gaze cracked under her gaze. He grumbled, “fine.” He spat. As if he was annoyed but he relaxed in the chair, knowing it was one of the few viable options they had.

“Really?” Iris’s face lit up.

“Really?” her mother echoed, surprised.

“It would help,” he told his wife. “And you, stay out of these things from now on, it's our job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

Iris dashed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Now, go to bed.”

“Fine, fine.” Iris left, gracefully climbing the stairs.

“Are you sure about this?” his wife asked him. Returning to the seat.

“It's… why do you think we shouldn’t?”

“No, of course we should.” she said, a little too quickly. “I mean,”

“No, it's fine.” he nodded, looking back at the coins on the table. “It's never enough is it?”

“That's because.” she started but held her tongue.

The room was silent.

“Well, if we do buy only one dress we should make sure it's the best dress around. We’ve got the coin for it.” he laughed.

“Leave that to me, your taste never grew past infancy.”

Rose sat in the shadows, her back pressed to the wall, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. Her parents’ decision echoed in her mind, but instead of relief, she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt

She hugged her knees tighter. How could I have been so blind? The quiet acts of love she never saw, they were always there.

For so long, she had convinced herself that she was nothing but a burden. A parasite in her own home. But now—now she could understand.

They loved her.

And then there was the money. If only she had known about their struggles sooner. If only she had tried to understand. If only. The word repeated in her mind like a cruel taunt.

Rose buried her face in her arms, silent sobs shaking her small frame. She felt both cherished and utterly miserable.