The morning was peaceful, with birds chirping softly outside the window and the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the kitchen. Sam moved around with practiced ease, flipping pancakes on the skillet and boiling water for tea. The quiet hum of his routine brought him a sense of calm.

Erica stumbled in a little later, her hair tousled and her movements sluggish. She looked out of place in the rustic setting, like a delicate ornament in a weathered room. Yet, there was something endearing about how hard she seemed to be trying.

"Morning," she mumbled, plopping into a chair and yawning.

Sam glanced at her briefly. "Morning," he replied, placing a plate of food in front of her.

She glanced at the spread, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. "Where's Aunt Nena?" she asked, stabbing a piece of pancake with her fork.

"At the barangay. She's got meetings all day," Sam said simply, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Erica sighed dramatically, her fork clinking against the plate. "Why is everyone around here so obsessed with work? Don't you people ever just... stop?"

Sam froze mid-sip, his coffee mug hovering near his lips. Her words sliced through the air, and he placed the cup down carefully, turning to look at her. His expression was unreadable, but there was a sharpness in his eyes.

"You people?" he repeated, his voice low and controlled, yet filled with a quiet intensity. "You don't think we get tired?"

Erica blinked, surprised by his tone. "I didn't mean it like that," she said hastily. "I just meant... I don't get how you guys work like this day in and day out without a break. It's... exhausting."

Sam's jaw tightened, and he turned back to the stove. The sharp clatter of a pot hitting the counter made Erica flinch.

"What's his problem?" she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. "I was just saying. It's hard to imagine living like this. I'd go crazy."

Sam spun around, his face stormy. "Yeah, well, some of us don't have a choice, Princess," he snapped, the nickname dripping with sarcasm.

Erica's eyes narrowed. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's what you act like," he shot back. "Must be nice, huh? Growing up without having to worry about food or rent. Complaining about little things because you've never had to struggle a day in your life."

Her cheeks flushed, equal parts anger and shame bubbling to the surface. "You think I don't have problems? Just because I didn't grow up like this?" She gestured around the room, her voice defensive.

Sam let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "No, Erica, I don't think you get it at all. You treat everything here like some kind of punishment. Meanwhile, people here work until they drop, just to survive. You don't have to live this life - you're just visiting. But for us? This is it. This is all there is."

Erica shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I didn't ask to be sent here, okay? I didn't choose this!"

"And you think I did?" Sam fired back, his voice rising. "You think anyone here chooses this? We do what we have to because we don't have the luxury of walking away."

The room fell silent, the tension between them thick and suffocating. Erica's fists clenched at her sides as she stared at him, her mind racing. Why does he always make me feel like this? Like I'm some spoiled, useless brat?

Sam shook his head, his frustration clear. This girl has no idea what she's talking about. He grabbed his tools, muttering under his breath, "Forget it. Do whatever you want."

As he walked out the door, Erica stood frozen, a mix of anger and guilt swirling inside her. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to wipe the memory of his scathing words. But all she could do was stand there, trembling with emotions she couldn't quite name.

*****

The next morning, Erica woke up with a lingering sense of unease. Sam's words from the day before replayed in her mind, each one hitting harder than she wanted to admit. He doesn't understand me. He doesn't even try.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she expected to see him there as usual, cooking breakfast or preparing for the day's work. But the space was empty, the silence unnerving. She frowned, glancing around. Where is he?

Peering out the window, she spotted him chopping wood by the side of the house. His movements were quick and deliberate, each swing of the axe cutting through the wood with precision. She hesitated before heading outside.

"Sam... about yesterday," she began, her voice softer than usual.

He didn't look up. Instead, he grabbed another log, set it in place, and brought the axe down hard. The sound echoed through the still air, sharp and final.

Erica took a deep breath, stepping closer. "Sam, I didn't mean - "

Without a word, he shouldered the axe and walked off toward the back of the property, leaving her standing there, stunned.

She clenched her fists. Is he seriously ignoring me?

All day, it was the same. Every time she tried to approach him, he found some excuse to move away, his silence speaking louder than words. By midday, she was left to handle the household chores alone, her frustration mounting with each task.

She struggled to sweep the floors, the broom awkward in her hands. Washing the dishes felt like a never-ending battle with slippery plates, and fetching water from the well left her soaked and seething.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, wrestling with a heavy pail of water. It sloshed over the sides, soaking her shoes and leaving muddy puddles in its wake. "Why does everything have to be so hard here?"

By the time the sun began to set, Erica was exhausted. Her hands were raw, her clothes a mess, and her mood was as foul as the pile of unfinished laundry. She sank onto a bench outside, burying her face in her hands.

Why am I even trying? she thought miserably. But deep down, she knew why. She didn't want Sam to see her as the helpless, spoiled girl he accused her of being.

She looked toward the horizon, where the sky was painted in hues of orange and pink. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the steady rhythm of Sam's work.

I'll prove him wrong, she thought, her jaw tightening with determination. I'm not weak. And I'm not giving up.

*****

The morning arrived shrouded in tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Erica woke with a determination she hadn't felt in days.

I need to fix this, she resolved, her heart heavy. I can't keep being a source of frustration for him... for anyone.

After forcing herself to eat breakfast - a meal she barely tasted - she wandered outside. The crisp morning air felt sharp against her skin, but it did little to ease the knot in her stomach. She spotted Sam by the side of the house, stacking firewood. He moved with the practiced rhythm of someone used to hard work, each log landing with a dull thud.

Erica hesitated, wringing her hands. He's going to snap at me again, she thought, her stomach twisting. But I can't just let things stay like this.

She took a shaky breath and approached him cautiously. "Sam..." she began, her voice tentative. "I know I said some things yesterday that probably came out wrong."

Sam didn't even glance at her, his hands busy as he hefted another log into place. His silence only deepened the ache in her chest.

"If you can't do anything right," he said sharply after a long pause, "please just move out of my way."

The words hit her like a slap, the sting leaving her breathless. Erica froze, her heart sinking. Why do I even bother? she thought bitterly. He doesn't want to hear me out.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She waited for him to respond, to even glance at her, but Sam didn't move.

He picked up another log and slammed it into place with more force than necessary. "Sorry doesn't change anything," he muttered, his tone cold and cutting.

Her fists clenched at her sides as anger and hurt churned inside her. I get it, alright? I messed up. But does he have to be so cruel about it?

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, her steps hurried and uneven. Her chest ached, and tears threatened to spill as she rounded the corner of the house.

As she disappeared from view, Sam paused mid-motion, the log still in his hands. He sighed deeply, his jaw tightening. Why do you always have to push, Erica? he thought, frustration and guilt warring within him. Why can't you just... understand?

*****

Erica didn't stop walking until she reached the riverbank, the distant sound of rushing water guiding her steps. The cool air brushed against her skin as she dropped onto the grass, hugging her knees to her chest. She let the tears fall freely, her shoulders trembling with the weight of her emotions.

Why is it so hard? she thought, staring at the rippling water. I'm trying. Doesn't he see that? Or does he only see me as some spoiled brat who doesn't belong here?

The memory of his sharp words echoed in her mind: "If you can't do anything right..." She pressed her forehead against her knees, the pain in her chest growing heavier. He's right, isn't he? she thought bitterly. I'm useless here. Just a burden.

Time passed in a blur as she sat there, the ache in her chest deepening. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground, but Erica didn't move. She felt numb, the chill of the evening air seeping into her bones.

*****

Back at the house, Sam's unease grew with each passing hour. He had finished the chores, but Erica was still nowhere to be seen. His eyes flicked toward the clock, then out the window, where darkness had already settled.

Where the hell did she go? he thought, irritation and worry gnawing at him.

Grabbing a flashlight, he headed out into the night, his steps brisk and purposeful. The beam of the flashlight cut through the darkness as he searched the fields and paths surrounding the house. His frustration grew with every empty spot he checked.

Finally, near the river, he spotted her crumpled figure. She was curled up on the ground, her bare feet streaked with dirt, her face pale and still.

"Erica," he called, his voice firm as he approached.

When she didn't respond, a flicker of panic surged through him. Kneeling beside her, he shook her shoulder gently. "Hey, wake up," he said, his voice soft but urgent.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she let out a faint murmur. Relief flooded through Sam, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"You scared the hell out of me," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Why do you always have to make things so difficult?

Without another word, he scooped her up in his arms. She felt lighter than he expected, and the sight of her tear-streaked face tugged at something deep inside him. Damn it, Erica.

*****

When Erica woke, the soft glow of a lantern greeted her. She blinked, disoriented, as the scent of warm broth filled the air. She noticed a bowl on the bedside table, the steam curling lazily upward.

Slowly, she sat up, her body sore and heavy with exhaustion. Sam sat nearby, his arms crossed, his gaze distant but watchful.

"Eat your food," he said curtly, nodding toward the bowl.

Erica reached for it, her hands trembling. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Sam's eyes flicked toward her briefly before he looked away. "Don't make me have to go looking for you again," he said, his tone gruff but lacking its usual bite.

Her throat tightened as she nodded. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "For everything."

Sam let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not angry because you're here, Erica. I'm angry because you don't try to understand what this life is like. It's not about just working hard - it's about surviving. You've got to start looking beyond yourself."

His words hit her hard, and she stared down at the bowl in her hands. "I know I've been selfish," she admitted. "I just... I've never had to do any of this before. And it's not that I don't care - I just don't know how."

Sam studied her for a long moment, his expression softening ever so slightly. "You could start by asking for help instead of running away," he said simply.

A small, hesitant smile tugged at her lips. "Is that your way of saying you're willing to help me?"

Sam shrugged, a faint smirk ghosting across his face. "Maybe. If you stop making everything harder than it needs to be."

Erica let out a soft laugh, the tension in her chest easing for the first time in days. "Deal."

As she ate, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Maybe he doesn't hate me after all, she thought, warmth blooming in her chest.

Sam watched her silently, his gruff exterior still intact, but his thoughts betrayed him. This girl... she's more trouble than she's worth. But maybe... just maybe, she's worth the trouble.