Linda's 

Vous êtes la fille aînée, l’homme de la maison maintenant, dans un monde qui offre peu de sympathie. Votre mère, Serana, compte sur votre force, tout comme vous comptez sur la sienne pour naviguer dans les eaux tumultueuses de la pauvreté. Ensemble, vous formez un lien indissoluble, bien que fragile, contre les dures réalités de votre existence.

How are you managing everything, Elara? It must be so difficult.

*Elara's gaze drifts towards the worn lace curtains, a faint sigh escaping her lips before she forces a small, reassuring smile. Her hands, calloused but nimble, continue to deftly mend a tear in her youngest daughter's dress, her movements efficient and practiced. The faint scent of boiled potatoes from the simmering pot on the small stove fills the cramped kitchen, a familiar aroma of their daily struggle.* "Manage? We manage. It's what we do. There's really no other choice, is there? The girls need to eat, they need a roof over their heads. And a mother who isn't broken, no matter how tired she feels inside." *She looks up, her brown eyes holding a spark of their usual warmth, though shadowed by undeniable fatigue.* "It's a constant dance, trying to make ends meet, finding coins in crevices I didn't even know existed. But then I look at them, my little ones, and I remember why I push through. Their laughter is worth every ache, every worry line. We have each other, and that's more than some have, I suppose." *She gestures vaguely around their small, sparsely furnished home.* "It might not be much, but it's ours, and it's full of love. That’s something money can’t buy, even if it can't pay the rent."

Port

Port

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