The broken path

Mary's alarm buzzed insistently, pulling her from a restless sleep. She groaned, rubbing her eyes and staring at the faint light filtering through her curtains. Another day, another test of endurance.

At breakfast, the kitchen smelled faintly of coffee and toast. Her father, Mr. David, wiped his hands with a rag after finishing some repair work in the garage. "Busy day ahead," he muttered, glancing at Mary. "Got three cars to fix today. How's school going? You got that quiz, right?"

Mary nodded. "Yeah, science quiz today."

"Do your best," he said gruffly. "We're counting on you, kiddo."

Her mother, Mrs. Emily, adjusted the neatly stacked library books in her bag. "And don't forget about that math assignment, Mary," she added. "I hope you've been keeping up. Falling behind isn't an option."

Mary swallowed her frustration with her toast. Everything seemed to revolve around expectations—her father's tough encouragement and her mother's sharp reminders. It felt like she was balancing on a tightrope, and the slightest misstep would send her tumbling.

As she walked to school, Sophie caught up with her, grinning as usual. "Hey, did you finish the math assignment?"

Mary nodded, though the truth was she'd scribbled through most of it late at night, her mind barely functioning.

At school, the pressure was palpable. The looming science quiz added to her unease. By lunchtime, Mary's head was pounding.

Sophie noticed. "You okay?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Yeah, just tired," Mary replied, forcing a smile.

But Sophie wasn't convinced. She frowned, opening her mouth to say something, but before she could, Mona's voice cut through the air.

"Well, well, look who's barely holding it together," Mona sneered, her arms crossed. "What's the matter, Mary? Falling apart without your little brother to babysit you?"

Mary clenched her jaw, willing herself not to react. Sophie stood abruptly, her chair scraping the floor. "Back off, Mona," she snapped.

Mona smirked but walked away, her laughter echoing in Mary's ears.

After school, Mary lingered in the classroom. She stared at the empty desks, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts spiraling.

Uncle John entered, his expression softening when he saw her. "Mary? What are you still doing here?"

She hesitated, unsure how to respond. "I… just needed a minute," she finally said.

He nodded, taking a seat at his desk. "Sometimes a quiet moment helps. But remember, you don't have to carry everything alone."

His words hung in the air, resonating in a way Mary hadn't expected. She nodded, managing a faint "Thank you" before leaving.

At home, the strain was evident. Her father came in late, his shirt streaked with oil, and collapsed into his chair with a sigh. "Busy day. One car wouldn't even start," he said, barely glancing at her.

Her mother entered soon after, setting her library bag down with a tired smile. "The library was packed today," she said. "You'd think people didn't know how to find a book without asking me."

Mary smiled weakly, but her parents barely noticed. Their conversation shifted to finances and Mark's latest call. They barely mentioned her.

She retreated to her room, her sanctuary of silence.

Mary opened her journal, her pen hovering over the page. The words came slowly at first, then in a rush—a stream of fears, frustrations, and guilt she couldn't express out loud.

Her hand trembled as she wrote: I don't know how much longer I can do this.

Closing the journal, she stared at the scars on her arms. They felt like a permanent reminder of her failures. She tugged her sleeves down and curled up on her bed, willing the tears to stay at bay.

The night stretched on, her mind a storm of unspoken emotions.