Salomi had always been tireless.
Two jobs. Endless chores at home. Counting the numbers at work, calculating how much she could save to eventually attend school. Her mind always racing, her body always moving, carrying responsibilities that were never hers to bear.
She rarely complained. She rarely rested. Sometimes she forgot to eat. Her reflection in the mirror told her body's story—older than her actual age, strikingly beautiful, with the warmth that made everyone near her feel safe, almost like home. But even beauty cannot shield a body pushed past its limits.
That afternoon, while stirring a pot of soup, a sharp pain shot through her head. Waves came one after another. She clutched her temples, screamed, tried to steady herself, but the spoon slipped from her fingers.
Dizziness hit.
Her vision blurred.
Cold tiles beneath her head.
And darkness.
---
When she awoke, she was on the kitchen floor, alone. The pain had faded, but the warning had been real—a body begging her to slow down, to breathe, to rest. But Salomi had no time for warnings. Her family needed her. Work needed her. The future needed her.
And she ignored it.
---
High school life was hard enough without parental guidance. But Salomi continued to hold the household together. Even at work, she radiated warmth, drew people close without effort, and never once let her fatigue show.
That night, long past midnight, she sat on the couch, calculating profits and tallying her earnings for the day. A blanket draped over her shoulders, eyes sharp and focused, yet carrying a faint shadow of exhaustion.
Ruby paced the room restlessly, teeth biting into her lower lip, fists clenching. Anger. Frustration. The kind that often found a target.
Her target this night?
Salomi.
---
Ruby snatched the book in Salomi's hands.
"I… I—" Salomi started, but Ruby swiped at her small savings pouch next. Quick hands, but Salomi was faster. She pulled it close to her chest, her honey-brown eyes calm and firm.
Ruby stopped for a moment. Shock. She hadn't expected resistance.
"What is it?" Salomi asked, voice soft, almost gentle. Not a trace of anger. Not a trace of reproach.
Ruby scoffed. "Nothing," she said, retreating. But she lingered. Something about Salomi's calm stare, her soft eyes… it made her hesitate. She didn't like admitting it, but it affected her.
An hour passed. Ruby returned again. This time, Salomi was still there, blanket draped, still reading by the faint lamp light.
"I can't sleep," Ruby muttered, expecting mockery, sharp words, or dismissal.
But Salomi looked at her with a gentle smile.
"Do you want a hug?" she asked.
Ruby froze. Her chest tightened. Lips quivered. Her defenses cracked.
"I used to hold you in my arms so you could sleep," Salomi continued softly. "Has your memory… been fading?"
"How… how did you know?" Ruby whispered, almost in disbelief.
"Your light is always on," Salomi said, "You don't sleep with the lights on. So… do you want me to hold you?"
Ruby didn't answer. Her legs moved before she could stop herself.
"This changes nothing," she said, but her voice was quieter, warmer, softer.
Salomi smiled. Her hands reached out. Ruby instinctively went into them, pulling the blanket over both of them. Her head rested against Salomi's chest. Her hand traced patterns in Salomi's hair. She breathed in her scent—warm, calm, safe, like home.
And slowly, her eyes closed.
Heartbeats intertwined. Small, gentle, constant.
And for the first time in years, Ruby fell asleep knowing she was cared for, without judgment, without expectation.
Time moved forward.
Years passed.
Salomi continued to be the anchor, the warmth, the mother figure that had never existed for them. She bore burdens silently, worked tirelessly, smiled constantly—even when it hurt her own heart.
The siblings, now over 18, had grown up under her care but still failed to recognize what she did for them. Mistakes, bad friends, reckless decisions—they survived because she managed the chaos.
She never asked for thanks. She never demanded recognition. She just… kept going.
The sacrifices continued, the pain continued, and still, she smiled.
But now that smile carried depth—a history of pain, endurance, and quiet strength.
A smile that haunted them all.