No Second Chances Apocalypse

| September 22, 2023 - 10:47 PM

The warmth of freshly brewed tea filled the small dining room. A plate of sponge cake with red bean filling sat between them, but no one was really eating.

Lin stirred her tea absentmindedly, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall. 10:47 PM.

She exhaled, pressing her fingers against her temple. "I hate this," she muttered.

Helen Zhang glanced up. "Hate what?"

Lin let the spoon clink against the ceramic cup. "Hate working until nine, coming home exhausted, eating dinner with you at ten like this is normal. It's not right."

Her father, Richard, leaned back in his chair, frowning slightly. "That's just life, Lin."

"No," she said, sharper than she intended. "That's life when you let it control you instead of the other way around."

Helen exchanged a look with Richard. "Something happened today?"

Lin sighed, rubbing her temples. "No. Or maybe yes. I just… I went to HR today."

Richard narrowed his eyes. "For what?"

"I asked to work remotely."

Silence.

Helen blinked. "Why?"

"Because I hate my life." Lin leaned forward, voice steady. "I spend ten hours a day trapped in an office, drowning in someone else's problems, coming home too tired to even enjoy the people I love. I can do my job from anywhere. Why the hell am I sitting in that building, wasting my time?"

Helen's brows furrowed. "And… what did they say?"

"They're sending the request." Lin smirked slightly. "And if Zhao has half a brain, he won't care as long as I keep everything running smoothly."

Richard exhaled. "You really thought this through."

"I have to." Lin turned to him. "And so should you, Dad."

Richard blinked. "Me?"

"You're two years from retirement," Lin said. "Why not ask to work remotely too? You manage projects—you don't need to be there physically all the time."

Richard frowned. "That's not how my company works."

Lin held his gaze. "But if you don't ask, you'll never know."

Silence settled between them.

Richard tapped a finger against his teacup, thoughtful.

Helen sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "And what about me?"

Lin turned to her mother, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "You, Mom, can finally do what you want."

Helen blinked. "Which is?"

"Start your own business." Lin leaned forward. "A vet clinic? A pet boarding service? A farm? You've spent your whole life treating animals, but always for someone else. What if you had your own space?"

Helen's fingers tightened slightly around her cup. "That's… a big step."

"So was getting your veterinary degree," Lin pointed out. "But you did it."

Helen hesitated. "And where would this business be?"

Lin smiled.

"On the farm."

Richard groaned. "We're back to that?"

Lin sipped her tea. "Yes, because it's a good idea. Sell this house, buy land. Mom gets her business. Dad still works, but remotely. And me? I'll find a way to make it work."

Helen gave her a long look. "Lin… this isn't like you."

"What do you mean?"

"You've always been practical. Always planning your next career move. You're not impulsive. But this?" Helen gestured vaguely at her. "This is like… like you're desperate for change."

Lin forced herself to smile. "Maybe I am."

Her parents didn't know what was coming. They didn't see the monsters, the burning cities, the endless hunger that would consume the world in three months.

But she did.

And she was going to make sure they survived it.

She took a slow breath. "Look, I'm not asking for us to pack up tomorrow. Five years. That's our plan. I'll keep working, but you two start thinking about moving first."

Helen exhaled. "You've really thought this through."

Lin nodded. "I have."

Richard sighed. "And what exactly would we do on this farm of yours?"

Lin smiled. "Grow vegetables. Plant fruit trees. Raise herbs. Raise fish, rabbits, chickens—small-scale at first. Enough to be self-sufficient."

Helen hummed. "That… doesn't sound so bad."

Richard gave her a look. "You're actually considering this?"

Helen shrugged. "We're not getting any younger."

Lin hid her relief behind her teacup.

The first step was always the hardest.

But she had just taken it.