Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

The kettle whistled sharply, and Evelyn poured the boiling water into two chipped mugs. She winced as the bitter steam curled into her face, but she stirred the powdered mixture anyway, careful not to spill.

Across the table, her father sat slumped, his calloused hands trembling against the wood. His once-bright eyes were dull now, shadows of a man who used to laugh louder than the storms rattling their old house.

She slid the mug toward him, the scrape of ceramic loud in the quiet room.

"Drink," she urged, her voice softer than she intended.

He hesitated. "You sure about this, kid?"

Evelyn nodded, gripping her own mug tightly. "It's the only way."

The two sat in silence for a moment, the weight of years pressing down on them. Evelyn sipped first, the concoction scalding her tongue. She swallowed with effort, her throat tight.

"It tastes terrible," she muttered, her lips twisting into a grimace.

Her father chuckled weakly, the sound brittle but warm. "Worst thing you’ve ever made."

"You're not wrong."

He raised his mug, staring into the dark liquid like it might offer him some hidden answer. Slowly, he took a sip, his face twitching as the bitter brew hit his tongue. Evelyn watched him, her chest tightening.

After a long moment, he exhaled deeply and set the mug down.

"Think it’ll work?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t answer. The antidote was untested, but it was their last chance to stop the illness spreading through him like wildfire.

Evelyn reached across the table, her hand resting on his. “It has to.”

They sat there, fingers intertwined, waiting for something—anything—to happen. The clock ticked loudly in the background, counting down the seconds of borrowed time.