The next day, I woke up to an empty room. It wasn’t unusual. I was a heavy sleeper – once I got to sleep, at least – a trait formed from circumstance. My brothers, all older, had jobs, and so had to be up early. My father would be working already as well. He always left before I was up, and usually returned after I was asleep. Almost a year out of school, I should have joined them. Part of me wanted to. The fact that I wasn’t contributing to keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table burned at me with the power only guilt held.
The feeling only intensified as I glanced at the stack of books beside the bed. They had cost an exorbitant amount, putting the family into debt to pay for them. Yet they were our salvation. If I was to join the Academy in the fall, I’d need the knowledge contained in their pages. When I graduated, I’d be able to get a position that paid more than the rest of the family earned. That was the risk that had led my father to buy the books. That was my responsibility.
So when I made my way out to our small kitchen to find some breakfast, I clutched the book I had been reading the night before, The Life of Jarem Nebriah. You can see why I thought it would be a biography. As much as it wasn’t what I expected, it was still an interesting book.
She has a goal to work towards, and learning is putting a lot of effort into her family.
That’s how they try to see it, but when you have trouble finding enough money to buy food, sometimes it’s hard to see things that way.