Married Before Midnight by Sienna Quinn - Chapter 8

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Married Before Midnight by Sienna Quinn


Chapter 8: A Mother’s Choice


The morning sun spilled through the kitchen window, casting a golden glow over the worn wooden table where the Carter family sat. The scent of scrambled eggs and buttered toast mingled with the faint aroma of Eleanor’s lavender soap—a small comfort in their cramped but cozy home. The five sisters exchanged secret glances, their excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. Hannah cleared her throat, her fingers tightening around her fork. "Mom, we need to talk to you about something important." Eleanor paused mid-sip of her coffee, her brow furrowing. "What is it, sweetheart?" Olivia reached for Hannah’s hand under the table, a silent show of support. Hannah took a deep breath. "We have a plan. A way to help with money." Eleanor’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "What kind of plan?" Charlotte couldn’t contain herself. "We’re starting a bakery! A home delivery service—Sweet Beginnings!" Eleanor’s cup clattered against the saucer. "Absolutely not." The room fell silent. Olivia squeezed Hannah’s hand tighter before speaking, her voice steady. "Mom, listen—" "No, Olivia. You’re children. Your job is school, not working yourselves ragged." Eleanor’s voice wavered, her knuckles whitening around her napkin. Hannah leaned forward, her dark eyes earnest. "We know we’re young. But we also know we can’t keep living like this. Dad’s medical bills, the debts—" "You don’t think I’ve tried everything?" Eleanor’s voice cracked. "I won’t let you carry this burden." Lillian, usually the quietest, spoke up softly. "But we want to help. All of us." Emily nodded, her pigtails bouncing. "We already figured out jobs! Olivia’s the baker, Charlotte takes orders, I’ll do numbers—" Eleanor pressed a hand to her forehead. "This isn’t a game, Emily." Olivia stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "I got a job. My first paycheck will buy flour, sugar—whatever we need to start. We’ll work after school, weekends. We won’t let our grades slip." Eleanor’s eyes glistened. "You’re twelve, Olivia." Olivia countered gently. "We’re Carters. We don’t wait for miracles—we make them." A tear slipped down Eleanor’s cheek. She looked at each of her daughters—Olivia’s stubborn resolve, Hannah’s quiet determination, Charlotte’s hopeful grin, Lillian’s steady gaze, Emily’s wide-eyed optimism. Hannah reached for her mother’s hand. "We can do this. Together." Eleanor exhaled shakily. "How… how would it even work?" The sisters erupted into eager explanations, their voices overlapping. Charlotte sketched a crude flyer on a napkin. Lillian suggested using their old wagon for deliveries. Emily proudly announced she’d already calculated potential profits ("If we sell ten cookies a day—"). Eleanor listened, her heart aching and swelling in equal measure. These were her girls—her brave, foolish, brilliant girls. Finally, she whispered, "Alright." The room stilled. "Alright," Eleanor repeated, wiping her eyes. "But rules. School comes first. If grades drop, we stop. And I’ll handle the oven—no burns on my watch." The sisters cheered, launching themselves at her in a tangle of hugs. Eleanor laughed through her tears, holding them close. Later, as they huddled around a notebook, planning their first menu, Eleanor watched them—her little bakers, her warriors. The road ahead would be hard. But for the first time in years, hope flickered in her chest, warm as the oven they’d soon light.