I got this thing... a job offer. From a company far away, like across the ocean far. My auntie helped me get the interview, she works there too, but she’s like, a manager or something. This job would pay so much money it makes my head spin. Like, enough to get mom that new fridge she’s been wanting forever, the one that doesn’t hum like a dying bee. And maybe even fix the hole in the roof so it stops dripping on dad’s favorite armchair when it rains hard. But... it feels wrong. Like, really wrong in my gut. My mom, she always says I have good hands for cooking, for fixing things around the house. She taught me how to mend clothes, how to make a little go a long way. And my little brother, he still comes to me when he has nightmares, crawls into my bed like a little shadow. Who would do all that if I left? Who would make sure dad takes his pills? Who would be there for them? The thought of leaving them behind... it’s like a cold wind blowing through me, even though it’s summer. When I told my mom about the money, her eyes got all wide, like she saw a ghost. And then she smiled, but it was a thin smile, like stretched-out dough. She said, "Oh, baby, that's WONDERFUL." But her voice was small, like she was talking from a long tunnel. And then she looked at my little brother, who was drawing dinosaurs on the floor, and I saw her face change, just for a second. Like something in her just... crumpled. And I felt it too, like a heavy stone in my stomach. I know it sounds stupid. It's a job. A REALLY good job. My auntie said I'd be set, that I could send money home, make a new life. But when I think about it, my chest gets tight, like someone’s squeezing it. My grandma always said a woman's strength is in her family, in keeping the house warm. And I just... I feel like if I take this, I'm throwing all that away. Like I'm choosing a pile of shiny coins over the warmth of their hands. And the shame of even thinking that... it’s like a hot blush across my face, even though no one else can see it. So I just sit here, staring at the email, the numbers glowing on the screen like a siren call. It feels like a test, like a trick. Like I have to choose between feeding them with my hands, or feeding them with money from somewhere far away. And every time I think of picking the money, I feel like a bad person. Like a selfish one. The job offer expires next week. I gotta choose. And my stomach just keeps twisting itself into knots.