My Breaking Point

CHAPTER ONE

EMILY'S POV

My hand gripped the phone tightly as I stared at the numbers displaying on the screen. 

Eight hundred dollars. 

The numbers were so laughable that if I hadn't been way out of my depth, I would have laughed out loud at the silliness of the entire situation. But the blurry vision of my phone screen showed how close I was to breaking down. A tear dropped from my eye, falling directly on the screen, splattering against it. 

 My eyes closed willingly as I felt the world closing in on me, the weight of it all crushing me so hard that I couldn't breathe easily. My eyes opened again, and it felt like the numbers on the screen suddenly developed mouths and eyes as they glared at me mockingly, taunting me. 

My entire life was being defined by these figures. Eight hundred dollars to keep a roof to my head, food in my fridge, and keep the vultures circling outside at bay, and yet all these would not exist in the next twenty-four hours because I was three hundred and ninety-nine thousand dollars short. 

My heart raced at the thought of how much I still needed, and I quickly dropped my phone on the counter like it burned me. I ran my hands through hair—greasy and unwashed—as I looked around my apartment like it would suddenly offer me a solution to my problems; instead, the silence of my home screamed back at me. Empty. Like my life. Like my bank account. 

My gaze landed on a pile of unopened bills sitting by the toaster. A mountain of problems I didn't want to face. Perhaps if I ignored them long enough, they'd disappear. I let out a sigh of frustration, which was immediately followed by a piercing scream as I tugged my hair hard. 

God, I hate him! I hate him so much that it brings tears to my eyes. I hate him. Dad. 

A knock at the door made me jump, my heart racing a million miles per minute as it shot into my throat. I gulped as my gaze fixed on the door, wishing I could see through it to know what kind of news waited for me on the other side. 

Another knock, and I froze, my back to the counter as I gripped the edges hard. A louder knock reverberated through the walls of my tiny apartment, and I knew I couldn't ignore it any longer. 

I crept to the door, the floor cold against my bare feet, as I pressed my eye to the peephole. A delivery guy. Just a kid, really. Green uniform and a clipboard in one hand as he glared at my door. 

“Delivery for Emily Jackson,” he called out, sounding bored. 

I exhaled. Not a debt collector. Yet. I unbolted the door and cracked it open just enough to receive the package. “What is it?” 

“Package for you,” he said, thrusting the clipboard at me. I caught it with both hands, scrawled my name without a second thought, and took the box. He walked away without a word, and I shut the door behind me, locking it again for good measure. 

The box felt heavier than it should. Like I knew what was inside. I set it on the counter and tore it open, my fingers clumsy, shaking. Paper. Just paper. I pulled it out and unfolded it, and my heart stopped. 

FINAL NOTICE. 

Red ink screamed at me from the top of the letter. The words blurred as I skimmed down the page. Thirty days. Four hundred thousand dollars. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat. 

 “No,” I whispered. My hands started shaking. “No, no, no.” The letter slipped from my fingers, fluttering to the floor like a broken bird. I crumpled to my knees, clutching my head as a sob ripped out of me. 

This wasn’t real. It can't be real. I can't do this anymore. I couldn’t— 

My phone buzzed on the counter, cutting through my meltdown. I forced myself to stand, my legs wobbling like I’d just run a marathon. Clara’s name lit up the screen.

I swiped to answer. “Hey,” I croaked, my voice raw and cracked. 

“Emily?” Clara’s voice was soft, hesitant. “You okay?”

I laughed bitterly; the sound was sharp and ugly. “Not really.” 

There was silence on the other end as she was quiet for a moment. “Is it the…?” She trailed off at the end, too afraid to even say their name. 

I nodded, then quickly replied when I realized she couldn't see me. “Yes.” My voice broke, and a shaky sob escaped. "I just received a notice, Clara. I—I don't know what to do. I... I—" I broke down, sobbing very hard. 

Clara’s soft voice tried to pacify me, but all my emotions were just jumbled together, and I didn't know how to handle it. 

“I might have a solution. It’s not… ideal, but it could work.” 

I stopped sobbing at once, my eyes wide as I stared into the air. “A solution?” I asked, disbelief and hope mixed in my voice. 

“Yes,” Clara replied, not saying another word. 

 My gaze narrowed as I pulled the phone away to check if the call was still ongoing because of how silent it was. Suddenly, I remember the other parts of her words. It's not… ideal. 

My stomach churned. “What kind of solution?” 

 “Meet me tomorrow,” she said quickly. “It’s better if we talk in person.” 

“Clara—”

“Trust me, okay? Just meet me.” And then she hung up. 

I stared at the phone in my hand, her words echoing in my head. A solution. It's not ideal, but I can't afford to be picky right now. And yet a part of me was very worried that this solution might be something I couldn't do.

I sighed, burying my face in my palm before running it through my hair, my fingers getting caught in its tangled web. 

God, what the hell is she about to drag me into?