Soon, the church staff member took Jolene and Emma to the church basement.
“The vacant rooms upstairs are shared dormitories, and they’re already full. There’s a spot down here in the basement—there’s a child’s bed in that corner. At the end of the hallway are public restrooms and showers. In principle, you can stay for a maximum of one week; resources here are limited. Also, try to keep quiet at night, pay attention to personal hygiene, and don’t disturb others. If you have any questions, feel free to come find me at the church office anytime…” The staff member pointed to the bunk bed in the corner.
“Okay, I understand. Thank you,” Jolene said, nodding earnestly.
“Growl—”
Emma’s stomach rumbled. The child widened her eyes, pressed her lips tightly together, and glanced timidly at Jolene, but refused to speak up.
The staff member, a middle-aged woman in her 40s, shook her head, glanced at Jolene, then crouched down to Emma’s level and said, “Sweetheart, how about I get you some bread?”
Emma looked at Jolene again, fear and hesitation in her eyes.
“Thank you, we’d appreciate that!” Jolene said to the staff member.
The staff member straightened up and walked out.
Before long, she returned with two loaves of bread and two bottles of water, handed them to Jolene, and added, “Free food is distributed here every Saturday afternoon at a set time. Remember to come pick it up.”
“Okay, thank you so much for your trouble. I’ll find a job and a place to live as soon as possible,” Jolene said, nodding repeatedly.
Seeing her cooperative attitude, the staff member nodded and looked at Emma again: “She’s a girl. This space here is relatively private—make sure to take good care of her.”
After the staff member left, Jolene pulled Emma over to sit on the bunk bed.
Tearing open the plastic wrapper, Jolene handed the bread to Emma: “Eat some bread to fill your stomach first. Once Mom earns some money, we can move out.”
Emma obediently took the bread and ate in silence, head down.
It was then that Jolene realized the child seemed to have been quiet ever since they were in the restroom washing up.
“Emma?” Jolene ventured. “Why haven’t you been talking?”
The child paused briefly, her clear eyes lifting to look at Jolene again: “Are you Mom?”
Jolene was speechless.
“Why do you ask?” Jolene swallowed, trying to stay calm.
This kid didn’t seem like a typical five-year-old. Was it because she was too different from the original owner?
“Mom doesn’t wash my face or hair for me,” Emma said, glancing up quickly at her before looking back down at the bread in her hands. “And Mom doesn’t smile at Emma either.”
Jolene was speechless.
Searching through her memories, Jolene recalled that the original owner hadn’t washed the child’s face since she turned three, nor helped her bathe. Only once in a great while would she complain that the child smelled.
Little Emma would imitate her mother and go to the restroom to wash herself.
But no matter how mature she acted, she was still just a baby. She’d always make a mess in the restroom and get scolded by her mom.
However, thinking about Emma’s background, Jolene instantly understood the original owner.
To put it bluntly, over the past two years, the original owner had developed some mental issues and spent her days numbing her mind with alcohol. Most of the time, she wasn’t even sober—taking care of herself was hard enough. The fact that Emma had managed to make it to five years old was already quite an achievement.
“Mom knows she was wrong. Before, Mom wasn’t being responsible. Now Mom won’t drink anymore, so she won’t neglect Emma anymore either.” Jolene thought for a moment—the original owner had been good to Emma before she turned three—and continued, “Emma, think about it: when you were a baby, you needed diapers changed. Mom took care of you back then, didn’t she? It’s just that Mom drank too much and became like this. As long as I stop drinking, I’ll go back to being the way I used to be.”
Only then did Emma look up, a hint of confusion in her pure eyes, as if recalling something. She nodded solemnly. “Then Mom, will you promise not to drink anymore?”
“Mhm, Mom won’t drink. Alcohol is a bad thing—it makes people stupid, slow, and unhealthy.” Jolene let out a quiet sigh of relief and extended her pinky. “Emma and Mom pinky swear. Mom promises she’ll never drink again.”
“What’s this?” Emma tilted her head, looking at Jolene’s outstretched finger, not understanding.
Jolene was speechless again. She’d forgotten—mother and daughter had never done this before.
“A pinkie promise. You lock pinkies like this, press thumbs together, and pull back and forth.” Jolene demonstrated as she spoke. “Pinky promise, if you lie, you get poked in the eye with a needle…”
Emma’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Mom will get poked in the eye if she breaks her word!”
The original owner had never done this with her daughter, but she had seen other kids do it when she was little.
“That’s right. So Mom definitely won’t go back on her word. I will quit drinking,” Jolene said, nodding with a solemn vow.
Emma finally brightened up, lowered her head, and ate her bread in big, happy bites.
There were bunk beds in the room—all upper and lower bunks—with a small child’s bed beside them. But at the moment, no one else was in the room. Either they were out looking for work during the day, or they hadn’t moved in yet.
While it was still daytime, Jolene finished her bread and knew she needed to get out and look for a job as soon as possible.
She went to the church office and asked the staff member who had arranged her accommodation, Isabella, for advice.
“Volunteers can watch your child for you temporarily. I can register your resume here, and if there are good job opportunities, fellow church members can also help recommend you,” Isabella said.
“Okay, I used to work as a live-in nanny for three years. I have a lot of experience caring for children,” Jolene said quickly.
Isabella noted down Jolene’s name and a brief work history.
“I also wanted to ask—since the child doesn’t have anything to eat, is there any job that could at least get us some food for her in the meantime?” Jolene asked, frowning with a troubled expression.
“Haven’t you applied for government assistance?” Isabella asked, her eyes showing surprise—clearly not expecting that the woman in front of her didn’t even have money for a single meal for her child.
Jolene clicked her tongue. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to apply—but once she contacted local social services, Child Protective Services would find out that she was the reported parent with a long-term drinking problem, and Emma would be taken away immediately…
“Ahem, well, I’ll go apply,” Jolene explained dryly.
Isabella didn’t press further, simply assuming she was young and didn’t know about it before, or that she might be a new immigrant who wasn’t eligible to apply.
“How about this—you can work as a temporary volunteer at the church. Help sort donation items, assist with event setup—there will be a small stipend, and we’ll also provide necessary food for you and your child,” Isabella said after a moment of thought.
Jolene let out a sigh of relief. At least this way, she and Emma would have food for the next few days. Plus, she’d be working right here sorting items, so Emma wouldn’t leave her sight.
Back in the basement, Emma was anxiously clinging to the doorframe, peering down the hallway. When she spotted Jolene’s figure, the child’s face immediately lit up with a delighted smile.
“Mom, you’re back! Emma didn’t leave the room,” Emma said, showing her tiny rice-grain teeth as she looked up at her eagerly.
“Good girl. But now Emma can come work with Mom, so we’ll have dinner tonight,” Jolene said, stroking the child’s hair.
Emma’s hair was a bit brittle and yellow. Jolene had simply tied it into a small ponytail—there wasn’t much of it, a clear sign of malnutrition.
“Mom, what kind of work is it? Can Emma work too?” Emma blinked, curious.
Jolene nodded. “Yes, Emma and Mom will sort donated items at the church with other volunteers. That way, we can get food for the next couple of days and won’t go hungry.”
“Great!” Emma nodded enthusiastically.
Under Isabella’s guidance, mother and daughter joined the other volunteers in sorting through items in the warehouse—picking out damaged, expired, or substandard items to throw away, then categorizing the remaining items into designated cardboard boxes.
Some volunteers had already put labels on the boxes, so Jolene and Emma arranged items according to the categories. Most of the items were for children—clothing was the most donated, with boxes labeled simply as “Infant/Toddler Clothing,” “Clothing for Ages 4–12,” and so on.
After working all afternoon, Jolene and Emma received their evening bread, water, and an apple to take back to the basement.
While eating, Jolene thought that this wasn’t a sustainable solution. She was afraid Child Protective Services would take the child away—but instead of hiding, it might be better to take the initiative. She could go to an alcohol treatment program, get proof of her active cooperation, and show CPS that she was seeking treatment. Once she found a job and a place to live, she could prove she was capable of raising her child. Then she wouldn’t have to live in constant fear.
That evening, the basement room gradually filled with other people needing temporary shelter. As Isabella had said, for safety reasons, all occupants in the same room were women.
Everyone wore troubled expressions, each facing their own hardships.
Jolene had no desire to chat with anyone. After working all afternoon, her body—already ravaged by long-term alcohol abuse—was so exhausted she couldn’t even lift a finger.
She took Emma to the shower room for a quick wash, put the child to bed in the small cot, and climbed up to her own bunk early to sleep.
Early the next morning, Jolene went to find Isabella, intending to leave Emma with a volunteer for a while so she could go register at an alcohol treatment center.
But just as Jolene turned to leave, the child who had been so well-behaved these past two days suddenly broke down in tears.
“Waaaah—Mom, don’t go! Doesn’t Mom want Emma anymore?” Big tears rolled down her cheeks. Emma wailed with her mouth wide open, reaching out to grab Jolene.
Jolene whipped around, startled, and hurried back. Emma broke free from the volunteer’s arms and threw herself into Jolene’s embrace.
“Mom just has something to do. Emma be good and stay with the big sister—Mom will be back in the afternoon,” Jolene said. She didn’t tell Emma directly that she was going to a treatment center, since there were too many people around and she was afraid the child might accidentally let it slip.
That morning, Emma had been quiet, and Jolene thought she understood—but she hadn’t expected such a strong reaction.
“Waaah—doesn’t Mom want Emma anymore? Emma will be good, Emma won’t run around, Emma can wash herself, Emma can eat by herself, waaah…” The child’s tears flowed like a broken dam. Her little face scrunched up as she clung desperately to Jolene’s clothes, unable to stop crying.
“Alright, alright—then Emma comes with Mom, okay?” This was the first time Jolene had ever dealt with a child having a complete meltdown, and she was instantly at a loss.
Emma hiccuped and sobbed. Hearing this, she tried to stop crying but couldn’t quite manage: “Okay… hic… okay… Emma won’t cry…”
With no other choice, Jolene had to take Emma along to find the alcohol treatment center.
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