The loud barks of neighborhood dogs echoed through the rundown streets, mingling with the harsh clank of metal from nearby workshops. Living on the downside of Breton wasn't something Anne-Marie was proud of, but it was all she could afford. At least she had a roof over her head—something she couldn't say for a few of the kids in the area. Here, survival was the only thing that mattered. Anne-Marie had dreams once—big, bright dreams. But life had a way of dimming them. She had let go of most of those dreams when her parents died, leaving her the sole provider for her family. And she had watched the rest fade when her brother was diagnosed with cancer.

Dreams like going to med school, becoming a doctor, and opening her own hospital—those dreams had no place in her world anymore. It had been two years since she dropped out of high school, a necessary sacrifice to ensure Abel's treatment. She knew she couldn't juggle school and work and still be there for him. Abel was all she had left. Even though he was sick, often in pain, she couldn't abandon him. She couldn't leave him to face the world alone. She was all he had.

"Thank God you're home," Mickey's voice pulled her from her thoughts as she stepped inside their cramped apartment. The older woman's round face broke into a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I was beginning to wonder when you'd get back."

Anne-Marie offered a tired smile in return.

"I'm really sorry, Mickey," she said, quickening her pace to meet the small, chubby woman who was throwing on her coat.

Mickey, named after the cartoon mouse for her small stature and lively spirit, was the heart of the neighborhood. She was always ready with a kind word and a helping hand, and without her, Anne-Marie's life would be a lot harder. Mickey had been babysitting Abel while Anne worked, just as she often did.

"I had a lot to do at work today," Anne-Marie explained, guilt creeping into her voice.

"That's fine," Mickey assured her, leaning on the table. "I had the whole day off, and you know how much I enjoy looking after Abel."

"Is he asleep?"

Mickey shook her head.

"He was out for most of the day, but he's awake now." Her eyes flicked to the paper bag in Anne-Marie's hand, and her face brightened. "You brought dinner?"

Anne-Marie sighed softly, her shoulders sagging with the weight of the day. "I figured he might be hungry since he didn't eat much earlier." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the white envelope she had earned earlier, opening it to extract a few bills.

"I made some money today," she said, stretching the notes out to Mickey. "It's not much, but please take it as a thank you for helping me with Abel."

Mickey's face softened as she gently pushed Anne-Marie's hand back.

"You know you don't have to pay me for spending time here, Marie. I enjoy looking after Abel—he's a sweet kid."

Anne-Marie tried again, her voice earnest.

"I insist. It's the least I can do to show my appreciation. Please."

Mickey shook her head, placing her hand over Anne-Marie's.

"You can show your appreciation some other time. When all this is over and you go back to school to become that doctor you've always wanted to be. Who knows? Maybe you'll work at the royal infirmary someday and catch the attention of the Prince, you can pay me back tenfold when you're the Queen of Breton."

Anne-Marie let out a soft laugh. Mickey's strange sense of humor never failed to amuse her, even if it was far-fetched. Everyone in the neighborhood thought Mickey was a bit crazy for her wild ideas, but that was part of her charm. The idea of becoming queen was as unrealistic as it was funny. Anne-Marie couldn't even imagine herself in such a position. She wasn't royalty—she was a girl from the downsides of Breton, struggling to make ends meet. The thought of being queen was nothing more than a fantasy, and a silly one at that.

"Keep your money, Anne-Marie," Mickey insisted, her voice firm but kind. "You and Abel need it more than I do."

Anne-Marie sighed deeply, her gratitude filling the space between them.

"Thank you, Mickey," she said softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

Mickey smiled, a warm, knowing look in her eyes.

"Oh, and your landlady stopped by again, looking for this month's rent and last month's. She wasn't very happy, said she wants her money by Thursday."

Anne-Marie's heart sank at the reminder, she was red from being so embarrassed . She had almost forgotten about her unpleasant, demanding landlady.

"Thanks for letting me know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mickey grabbed her umbrella from the table, ready to leave.

"Now, I'm going to get out of here before you try to give me money again," she said with a wink, heading toward the door.

Anne-Marie turned to her, the words heavy on her tongue.
"Thank you so much, Mickey. I'm really grateful."

Mickey waved her off with a smile and stepped out, the door closing behind her with a soft click. Anne-Marie let out a ragged breath, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it onto the table. The exhaustion settled into her bones, and she stretched her arms, trying to shake it off as she made her way to the bedroom. Every step creaked the worn floorboards beneath her feet—a constant reminder of the old house's state.

She pulled her hair into a loose ponytail as she reached the bedroom door, knocking gently before poking her head inside. Not that she needed permission to enter her own room, but it had become a habit, a way to give Abel his space.

There he was, sitting up in the small bed, his pale face lit up with excitement as he flipped through last week's edition of the royal magazine. Abel had a deep love for the royal family, and collecting their weekly magazines had become his cherished hobby. His eyes were always bright when he was reading about them, a rare spark of joy in a life filled with so much pain.

Anne-Marie couldn't help but smile as she walked into the room, her heart warming at the sight of her brother. "I'm jealous," she teased, plopping down beside him on the bed. "You pay more attention to the royal family than you do to me."

She glanced at the magazine, her eyes falling on the picture of Prince Aiden. The royal family was everywhere in Breton—on every currency, every billboard, every magazine cover. But Anne-Marie had never had the time or inclination to care much about them. They lived in a world so far removed from hers, a world that seemed to care little for people like her and Abel. Still, she was grateful for one thing—they gave Abel a reason to smile, something she hadn't seen much of since he got sick.

"Marie," Abel's soft voice broke through her thoughts. His hazel eyes met hers, shining with a mix of excitement and determination. Despite the paleness of his skin and the scarf covering his bald head, he still managed to smile—a smile that comforted Anne-Marie more than anything else in the world.

"Mmm?" She smiled back at him, her heart aching with love and concern.

"Did you know the prince is giving a speech tomorrow at the graduation ceremony of the elementary class at the Breton School for the Gifted?"

"Really?" Anne-Marie feigned surprise, leaning in to match his enthusiasm. "He will?"

Abel nodded eagerly.

"Mmm-hmm. I wish I could be there to hear it. I've always wanted to see the Prince in person, you know? Everyone else has seen him at least once, even you. I can't believe you got to meet the prince and I didn't."

Anne-Marie's smile faltered slightly.

"That was a long time ago, Abel. He probably doesn't even remember, and honestly, I forget sometimes too."

"No you didn't, you said he was your first love," Abel teased, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Abel!" Anne-Marie's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I never said that."

"Yes you did." Abel clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I'm disappointed in you, Marie."

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone.

"Why?"

"Everyone's out there trying to win the prince's attention, and you don't even care. You don't even care about the royal engagement, or royal family. Didn't you say he gave you a keepsake and asked you to come to him if you ever needed his help?"

Anne-Marie sighed, feeling the weight of his words. She opened her mouth to respond, but Abel continued, his voice tinged with frustration.

"But I can't blame you. It's not like it's exactly easy to go to him, not when he's always guarded."

"Well," she shrugged. "That and the possibility that he might have forgotten."

"Yeah," he let out a disappointed exhale. "The prince would never notice us. You're unorganized, poor, and we've got nothing that would interest him. You've never even managed to get the attention of the boys in our neighborhood, let alone the prince."

Anne-Marie smiled softly, despite the pang of sadness in her heart. She loved when Abel teased her like this—it was his way of keeping things light, of showing her that he was still in the fight, even if his body was failing him.

"That's not true," she said gently. "I could get the prince's attention if I wanted to. He's just not my type."

Abel rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Yeah, right. You should've done that when you had the chance."

Anne -Marie chuckled softly, leaning in closer to her brother.

"What's so hard about being Queen? I could be Queen, you know. We could be part of the royal family if I really put my mind to it. Your big sister is smart, and people say I have good skin. I could pass as one of those upper-class girls."

Abel turned to her with a serious look, a stark contrast to his usual teasing. "Go back to school first," he said, his voice firm.

"At least finish high school before you start thinking about becoming royalty."

Anne-Marie's smile faded slightly. She knew where this conversation was headed. Abel had a way of bringing up the subject of school every now and then, always trying to convince her to go back. It was his way of showing he cared, but it was also a reminder of the sacrifices she'd made.

"It's been two years, Marie," Abel continued, his tone gentle but insistent. "You should be graduating next year if you'd stayed in school."

"Abel—" Anne-Marie began, but he cut her off, his voice growing more urgent.

"I know what you're going to say. But just because you tutor yourself doesn't mean it's the same. You should be living like everyone else your age—failing tests, skipping classes, getting bullied, falling in love. Just living. Stop worrying about me, Marie. I'm doing better now. I don't feel as much pain as I used to, and I don't get sick as often. You don't have to take care of me at the expense of your future anymore."

Anne-Marie sniffed, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. She couldn't let him see how much his words affected her. He was too young to carry such a burden, and yet, here he was, worrying about her future when he should be focusing on getting better.

"At least tell me you'll think about it?" Abel's voice was soft, almost pleading.

Anne-Marie reached out, placing a gentle hand on his head, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his scarf. She smiled, though it was tinged with sadness.

"I'll think about it," she promised, her voice thick with emotion. "But first, let's eat dinner. I got your favorite."

Abel's eyes lit up, the conversation about school forgotten in an instant.
"You did?" he asked, his excitement returning.

Anne-Marie nodded, grateful for the change in subject.
"I did. Come on, let's go eat."

As they made their way to the kitchen, Anne-Marie couldn't help but feel the weight of Abel's words pressing down on her. He was right—she deserved more than this life of constant struggle. But she couldn't let go of her responsibilities, not when Abel needed her. Still, his words lingered in her mind, a small seed of hope that maybe, one day, she could find a way to have it all.

But for now, she would focus on the present—on making sure Abel was happy, fed, and as healthy as he could be. The future could wait.