Elara looked out of the expansive bay window in her apartment, watching the lively city below. The Manhattan skyline, once a source of familiarity and energy, now appeared distant and overwhelming.

The city that had once represented her achievements now felt unfamiliar and filled with obstacles. All that she had worked for seemed on the verge of collapse. Despite her efforts to reach her current position, she felt a sense of impending failure.

The constant chirping of her phone cut through her brooding. She let it ring, each alert echoing off the marble countertops of her kitchen, through the carefully curated space she’d crafted as testament to her success. Now it all felt hollow, like a museum to dreams about to shatter.

When the phone buzzed for the tenth time, she finally crossed to the nightstand. Her mother’s name glowed on the screen, and Elara’s carefully maintained composure cracked. Of course she’d seen the news. Of course she was worried.

The sight of her mother’s name unleashed a flood of memories – their tiny apartment filled with her father’s warm laughter, the way he could make even soup and bread feel like a feast. They’d been poor then, but there had been a richness to life that no corner office could replicate. Until her father got sick. Until they couldn’t afford the surgery. Until they watched helplessly as death took him, their poverty becoming his executioner.

Her mother had never recovered, grief eating away at her health like rust on steel. The mounting medical bills, the constant stress – it had fallen to Elara to shoulder it all. She’d sworn then, standing in the rain after her father’s funeral, that poverty would never again be their jailer. That she would build walls with degrees and bank accounts to keep desperation at bay. Now someone was trying to tear those walls down.

The phone’s insistent ring pulled her back. She drew a steadying breath. “Hello, Mother?”

“My beloved Elara, you must be suffering so much.” Her mother’s voice carried that familiar gentle concern that always made Elara feel like a child again.

“You must have seen the news, mother?”

“Yes, my daughter. I have seen it. Everything,” she answered gently.

“Mother, do you believe me?” The question caught in her throat, heavy with need. “That I didn’t do it?”