(Layra)

  I wake up. Today is the last day I will open my eyes in this bed, while my parents sleep in the room next door. It is the last morning I will eat breakfast in the house that has carried me through seventeen years of life—years in which, though food was scarce, my hunger was somehow always met.

  I was not born into wealth. My life has been filled with stress and uncertainty, yet I never tried to escape it. Instead, I worked hard to honor the efforts of my parents. And now, today, I am leaving for a boarding school miles away from home. My parents are proud, believing their sacrifices have finally borne fruit. But I am not happy. I am afraid.

  Distance from them feels like distance from my own heart, from my real life. Still, I have witnessed their struggles, and I cannot let their efforts go unanswered—no matter how painful it is for me.

  I rise from bed. Though summer has not yet ended, the sky is heavy with clouds. My mother, full of energy, prepares breakfast. I must not discourage her. I must be a good daughter. So I smile, swallowing the lump in my throat, and say, “Good morning.”

  Without turning her face toward me (though I wish she would), she replies, “Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?” Her voice is nasal, and now I understand why she avoids looking at me. “Mom, please… stop,” I whisper. She stammers, “I… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.” A strange pain spreads through my chest. How can I leave her like this?

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  My father enters the kitchen, his face tense. I know why. He says, “Layra, I…” The words are too heavy for him—he cannot bring himself to say goodbye. I don’t let him finish. I rush forward and hold him tightly. For the last time, I feel the warmth of his hardworking body. Tears burn my eyes, spilling down my cheeks in hot streams. After a few seconds, I release him, forcing myself to step away.

  My mother touches my shoulder, guiding me back inside. I nod and follow.

  I eat breakfast slowly, unwilling to let it end. Perhaps years will pass before I sit in this chair again, tasting such a meal.

  Afterward, I return to my room. I put on my school uniform, comb my hair, and slip into my shoes. All the while, tears fall. Goodbye, my small but beautiful room.

  The car waits outside. I glance around one last time. Now it is time to say farewell to my mother’s weary yet hopeful face. I embrace her tightly. For a brief moment, her warm hands on my shoulders give me indescribable peace. Then she pulls back to look at me. Her eyes shine with a calmness she has longed for all her life, and her lips curve into a wide smile. That smile is what gives me strength to walk toward the car.

  I climb in without a word, only raising my hand in farewell. My mother whispers, “Good luck, my dear. Good luck.”

  The car moves forward. For a long minute, I watch her figure grow smaller and smaller.