After breakfast, Mr. Philip stood up, grabbed his keys from the counter, and looked at us with a warm smile.
"All right," he said, "how about we get you some clothes that actually fit?"
Josh jumped up, nearly knocking over his chair. "Can I get shoes that light up?" he asked, eyes wide.
"You can get whatever you like," Mr. Philip chuckled.
I hesitated, glancing down at my worn dress. "Are you sure?"
"I'm very sure," he said gently. "Let me do this for you."
We all piled into Mr. Philip's car. It was the first time Emily and Josh had ever ridden in something so smooth and quiet. The drive was filled with excited chatter—Josh pointing out every dog, bus, and tree like it was the first time he'd seen the world.
At the mall, the kids wandered through rows of colorful clothes, their eyes wide like they'd stepped into another world. I watched them try on little jackets and sneakers, giggling in front of mirrors, twirling, running from rack to rack. I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd seen them act like children.
Mr. Philip helped me pick out a soft blue blouse and a pair of jeans that actually fit me. "You deserve to feel good too," he told me. I nodded, barely holding back tears.
Once we were done, shopping bags in hand, he drove us around the neighborhood. The streets were clean and quiet, lined with trimmed hedges, wide sidewalks, and children riding bikes. Josh and Emily pressed their faces to the windows, watching everything like it was magic.
We stopped at a small park, and the kids ran off to climb and swing while I sat on a bench under the shade of a tree beside Mr. Philip.
"They're smiling again," I said softly.
"They should never have stopped," he replied.
I looked around the peaceful neighborhood and took a deep breath.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like we were just surviving.
We were starting to live.
The following week, Mr. Philip took it upon himself to handle something I hadn't dared dream about—school.
"This isn't just about shelter and food," he said gently one morning. "You deserve a future too. All of you."
He spent hours researching, making calls, and driving us to visit some of the best schools in the city—places I had only ever seen from the outside. Their gates were tall and polished, the uniforms crisp, the students smiling without worry.
He made sure we were treated with dignity. He walked beside us into every meeting like we belonged there—and under his care, we did.
Josh, being only four, was enrolled in Brightstone Academy's Early Years Program, a luxurious preschool with vibrant classrooms, nature walks, and teachers who knelt to speak to children eye-to-eye. His classroom had a reading tent, a mini indoor slide, and more crayons than he'd ever seen in his life.
Emily, at eight, was placed in Willowcrest International School, entering Grade 3. She received a backpack, brand-new books, and a tablet. Her smile widened when she saw the music room and the art wing—things our old life never even hinted at.
And me? I was eighteen, with years of education stolen by life. But Mr. Philip didn't hesitate. He registered me into Ridgeview Girls College, a high-end private school known for accepting older students in special cases. After an entrance evaluation, they placed me in Senior Year with a tailored support system to help me catch up. My uniform fit perfectly. For the first time, I looked like a student with a future.
When the tuition fees came up, Mr. Philip didn't flinch.
"I'll take care of everything," he said, signing the paperwork. "You just show up. Learn. Grow."
That evening, I sat quietly, watching my siblings laugh with their new school bags packed beside them, excitement glowing on their faces.
I blinked away tears.
For the first time in years, we weren't just surviving.
We were becoming something more.