For five days, Kacy shared a tent with other flood survivors. A narrow cot and donated clothes were all she'd been given.
Endless nights of orphan children crying—sharp, broken sobs that pierced the thin canvas and echoed through the camp. She understood their terror: huddled with strangers, parents gone, no familiar arms to hold them. Yet her body clawed for rest. The flood had stolen everything—her home, her few possessions, the fragile routine she'd clung to—and without sleep, she couldn't keep going.
When she saw the posting on the camp's makeshift job board—a live-in maid position for Lolita Evergreen—she knew she had to take the shot. She had nothing to lose. The camp was bursting at the seams, supplies dwindling by the day, and funding had dried up—no more trucks of food or blankets on the horizon. She needed out. A roof that didn't leak, a bed that wasn't shared with ghosts of loss. Anything felt better than staying.