Family by Anna Andriychuk

 If today wasn’t the worst day of her life,

then Amy could confidently say she was not ready for another one in an immediate future. Maybe in a few years. Preferably – decades. Why, one may ask? Simple. Her boyfriend broke up with her, that cheating little rat; she failed her Physics test because of him; a bus drove over a puddle and splashed her gorgeous, brand new, lavender, woollen sweater she spent days making, her efforts ruined, evaporated, gone like the wind, poured down the drain, and another thousand euphemisms that wouldn’t be enough to describe the hatred she now felt for this disgusting, unfair joke of a world.

She sighed heavily as she threw the front door of her house open. A loud bang ricocheted off the walls, alerting the cat that was peacefully sleeping in the corner of the hall on his cosy little bed. Lardo jumped, staring at her intensely, before lazily placing his head back onto his front paws.

“I’m home!” Amy yelled, struggling to take off her stupid shoes. She loved them, dearly, but now she simply wished she could just to chuck them out the window. And her hat. And her jacket. And her bag. And that stupid keychain that Nick gave her.

…

The last thought made her pause, the plastic keychain rattling, as though continuing to mock her with its presence. She used to adore this sound. It was annoying, sure, but every time she had heard it jingle, warmth spread through her body. Like moths to a flame, she had clung to it like a lifeline. When they argued, when they were apart, when her family and friends vehemently disapproved of him.

Now, though, it aggravated her, sticking out like a sore thumb. She tore it off with a grunt, storming off to chuck it directly into the kitchen’s trash bin. Right where it rightfully belonged.

Amy exhaled loudly, looking around the room. It was empty and silent. The house, too, for that matter. She looked at her watch, the arrows reading almost 2 pm. Too early for anyone to be home. Which meant she… was alone. Completely alone…

“Whatever, I’m starving,” she pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside, opening the fridge so hard the door almost flew off the handles. Who cares about a potential scolding, she had more important stuff going on right now than something as trivial as fridge handles.

And then she saw it. A plastic container with a small note that read, “Good luck on your test! - Love, mom♡”.

Oh, the lunch she forgot to take with her. It sat there, innocently, staring back at her like it was eagerly awaiting to be taken. She held it gently, opening the lid. Here were her favourite snacks, sandwich made with her favourite fillings, even a few candies that were definitely supposed to be her sister’s. She noticed another note, this one more crumpled, with a much messier handwriting: “I know you love ‘em, so here. But the next ones are mine and mine ALONE. Oh yeah, and good luck, i.g.”.

Amy sat the container on the table, unwrapping the sandwich with trembling hands. For some reason, today, it tasted better than any other she had had before.

And then the dam broke. Tears ran down her cheeks as she munched greedily on the best sandwich of her short, pathetic life. A meow broke her from her stupor, its source jumping on her knees.

“Largo?” she stared at the cat in wonder, sniffing loudly. He wasn’t one to show affection so openly, and yet here he was, making himself comfortable on her lap, purring like a full-blown engine. The sound so comforting and safe.

“Thank you,” Amy patted him gently, chomping on her beloved candy. Sweet, chocolaty with a soft milky-like mouse inside.

And at that moment, she didn’t feel so lonely any more.