She barely saw her mother during the week anymore, except on nights when she needed a glass of water or when she awoke very early in the morning. Janine left an hour and a half before her daughter had to go to school and wasn't home until well after she'd gone to bed. She had to work more now.
After the fight with her mother five years ago, Mike had left and Courtney's babysitter, in her eyes, had lied because he hadn't come back. Not that night, not the following morning. She waited a week for him to come home, but every time the door opened, it was her mother who stepped inside. Courtney had been scared to ask her where he was, and it took a week for her to build herself to asking about him. And when she did, the words that came from her mother's mouth shocked her, although it took her a little while to grasp their full meaning: he was dead.
Now, it was like she'd lost her mother, too. She worked long hours at both of her jobs to support them, although Courtney didn't know where her mother went for work. She didn't know much about her mother's life anymore, she saw her so little.
She lives with her mother, but Courtney is still very much alone. She had to learn how to take care of herself after her father left. She doesn't have a babysitter anymore, she's sure mostly because Janine couldn't afford to pay one. How could she when it was hard enough for her to pay the rent? When Courtney wakes up in the morning, she eats her breakfast and gets herself ready for school. Janine leaves her a small amount of money on the table for her lunch, which she puts carefully in her pocket until the fifth grade class is dismissed for lunch. After school, she comes straight home like she's been told, no stops on the way from the bus stop, even if it's warm outside and a friend invites her to play.
When she gets home, she can tell her mother's been home and already left for her night job. Dishes are left out from a quick lunch, a fresh load of laundry that needs folding sits on the dining room table, a note from her mother placed on the top, asking her to do the dishes. Courtney drops her backpack on the couch, takes the note from the bakset and crumbles it up before throwing it away. Janine's coffee cup is still on the table, a ring left from it on the surface; Courtney finds a dishrag and wipes it clean. Afterwards, she sorts the clothes in the basket, putting them away in their proper place. She waits to do the dishes until after she's made herself a sandwich or two and a glass of milk for dinner; it's easiest to make. Sometimes she'll make macaroni and cheese, but ordering a pizza like Eryne used to do is out of the question; it's too expensive and it wasn't safe for her to open the doors to strangers, even a seemingly harmless pizza delivery man.
She does the dishes tonight as usual, after she's eaten her own dinner and starts on a short math homework sheet. It is easy and she finishes within a few minutes. She sits now on the lumpy, old, worn down couch that sits in the middle of the living room and turns the t.v. on. It is old, too, and they only get two channels in. It didn't matter, she only watches bits and pieces of it between reading a book she's gotten out of the school library. Now, there is nothing left to do except to wait, for her mother to come home and for the day to repeat itself tomorrow.
At ten years old, Courtney is different from other kids her age. She is self reliant and is responsible for a household, making her mother's life as easy as possible so that she can go to work every day, pay the rent. She is unselfish and rarely feels sorry for herself. She is not scared, although she does with that maybe, she could stay at a friend's house instead of being all alone when she comes home from school until the time her mother comes home, after she's gone to bed. At ten years old, she can survive on her own, mostly, but she'd give anything to not feel lonely as she does it.