A fog of liquored breath escaped her mouth. With a swift movement of her hand, she wiped the haze that blurred her mirror. Staring at herself, Emily couldn't find the stomach to accept the woman gazing back at her. A year ago, she was the most celebrated interior designer in the country, but now, she's got nothing on her name but a few food stamps.

One may wonder how she got to this point. The answer was as vague as why she started drinking. She was never fond of alcohol, but she somehow got herself to a point where she couldn't function properly without first having a shot or two of tequila.

Shaking her head, she reached for her towel, but before she could fully dry her face, the sudden loud banging on her apartment's door had her scurrying out of the bathroom and opening the sliding window to her living room. With haste, she crept out and descended using the fire escape. Well, her current situation was analogous to that. She was certain the person behind her front door was her landlord. She hasn't paid her dues in two months because she spent her borrowed- sometimes begged for - money on alcohol rather than food or rent. Fire was after her.

The chilly air of December greeted her bare shoulders as she stepped down from the last flight of stairs. She shivered when her bare feet met the cold ground. What am I doing? Emily asked herself as she rounded the corner leading to the free soup stand at Burrow Abbey. She hadn't planned on visiting the place that day, but she needed a spot to pass time.

That small kitchenette erected by a kind-hearted man for the homeless aided her to survive starvation. It also saved her a lot of money and fed her addiction to alcohol. She came by regularly when she first found out about the place and it shattered her pride to pieces. But to hell with that. However, people soon started realizing who she was. To add insult to injury, they began to gossip about her and threw curious glances at the once-gorgeous Emily Hudson.

Initially, she dismissed their snarky remarks and hurtful words, but when one questioned what she does with her money and why she was there to take from those who truly needed the help, she cowered and lowered her head.

Perhaps that was the reason why she made a decision weeks ago to reduce her visits at the soup stand, and that day was supposed to be one of those, no meal for the day moments of her. But in her current circumstance, she'd rather be at the kitchenette begging for food, facing humiliation than be confronted by her landlord. Two birds with one stone. She gets to eat and save herself from all the yelling and degrading talks of her once close friend that owns her apartment complex.

Upon reaching the stand, she was greeted with a sad smile from Mr. Harlow. The man never questioned her when she started coming to the free soup stand, despite him having seen her for years driving a Mercedes and donning expensive dresses.

"It's tomato soup today. But I also have a few slices of bread," Harlow said as he reached for a porcelain bowl. Emily bobbed her head and took a seat in a corner where other homeless people sat. As she waited for her meal, she couldn't help but stare at the faces of those around her. They were the same people she used to sneer at. They were the people she once referred to as smelly rats. Oh, how low have I fallen, she thought to herself, shivering as a cold gush of wind blew past her.

Her musing had gotten too deep she hadn't noticed when Mr. Harlow sat beside her. It was only when the sweet and sour scent of the tomato soup reached her senses that she glanced to her side.

Mr. Harlow smiled as he handed her a bowl of soup and a small paper bag which Emily suspected held slices of bread. She gave him thanks and wished him a Happy Thanksgiving. The man smiled and Emily thought he'd get to his feet and walk away. But the man did not. He instead pulled out an envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to her.

With curious eyes, she took it.

"I know life has been rough. But the only person who can truly save you is you," Mr. Harlow murmured as he got to his feet. Before he turned to his heel to walk away, he threw another glance at Emily and added, "My sister said she can get you admitted and stay there for free. It's a chance you wouldn't want to miss."

Dumbfounded and unable to decipher what the older man meant, Emily, opened the envelope. There she saw a brochure of a rehabilitation center for alcoholics.

For a brief moment, Emily thought of throwing the brochure away. However, a part of her, perhaps the one still clinging to normalcy and untouched by alcohol begged her to reconsider. It hadn't taken her long to arrive at a decision. Emily finished her soup, got to her feet, thanked Mr. Harlow, and parted with the words, "I think all I needed was a nudge. Next time you see me, I'll be a different person."