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A heart-wrenching sob escaped her dry, cracked lips. Silent sobs wracked her thin, brawny shoulders. A terrible pain pounded through her chest. One thought rang over and over in her mind.

Please. Not Oma. Oh dear God. Not Oma.

The magical moment of the theatre had long-since disappeared from her distressed mind. Wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders and shaking the dark curls from the bun pinned to the top of her head, Anne turned heel and fled into the growing darkness suffocating the outside of the auditorium.

As she made her way through the tall, ivory gates leading into the fresh, green grounds of the building's estate, Anne caught a glimpse of Bec's slumped figure as he disappeared into the dusky night.

"Wait! Max! Hold up!"

At the sound of her brother's shrill cry, Anne stumbled to a confused halt and turned around to see him hailing a horse and cart that had just pulled around the corner.

"Come on, Anne!" he urged as he waved her over. "Let's go!" Upon seeing the expression of hesitant doubt on her face, he assured her, "Max worked with me at the smith's. He's my friend. He'll take us to the hospital."

Blinking back the tears that were burning her red-rimmed eyes, Anne silently nodded and complied.

In reality it was only a few moments before they arrived but, to Anne, it felt like hours - long, agonising hours.

God. Please. Spare her. I need her. I need my Oma, she inwardly begged, tears streaming down her wet, puffy cheeks. Please.

The cart careened to one side as it pulled onto the cracked pavement that led the way down the street to the large, white-coated hospital and jerked to a stop.

Without waiting for any assistance, Anne clambered over the wheel of the cart and jumped to the ground.

"Anne! Wait!" W.D shouted after her.

Anne paid him no heed, however, and proceeded to plunge, head-first, into the swarm of people and horses and carriages and stretchers piled around the double-glass doors of the huge building.

"Oma! Oma!" she screamed as she scrambled desperately for one, small sliver of light. "Oma!"

Turning this way and that, Anne gasped and heaved for air as her brown orbs bounced over the grime-streaked faces of the street orphans, the pale, weary ones of their mothers, the wrinkled, down-trodden ones of their fathers - their despairing, hopeless faces, their desperate, pleading faces, their tearful, grief-stricken faces.

"Anne! Over here!" W.D's shout roused her from her reverie and she spun around to see her brother frantically waving to her through the crowd.

A wave of determination crashed over her and with the last of her strength, she shoved her way through the flow of bodies in her way before finally stumbling out into the open.

"Oh my god," she breathed as she glanced down towards her feet. "Oh my god. O-Oma..."

For there, lying at the bottom of the bustling steps leading up into New York's most-acclaimed hospital was the huddled form of an elderly woman. Her nose was bleeding. Her lip had split open. Her shirt had been torn and her clothes were spattered with mud. Her skin was an eerie grey colour. Her mouth was open, gaping for air, and her eyes were wide, searching for help.

"Oma!" Anne collapsed onto the sidewalk beside her grandmother. Gripping the woman's torn shawl, she started to break down. "I - I can't believe it." Glancing up at her brother, she stated, "T-they turned her away. They left her to die."

W.D knelt down next to his sister and shook his head in utter disbelief.

"It's because we're poor, isn't it?" Anne exclaimed bitterly. "It's because they're afraid we can't meet the bills." Several tears traced the outline of her cheek. "How dare they! How dare they leave Oma to die like this!"

"M-my child," Oma sputtered weakly as she lifted a cold, damp hand and placed it on Anne's temple. "My child...it's okay. I'm not afraid to die."

"Oma," Anne cried. "Please, don't say that! You're going to get better! You have too!"

Oma closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "No, my child. I am not going to get better. But, that's okay because you are a strong girl, a beautiful person and a very talented trapeze artist. You'll do fine without me. You are your own person now. You've achieved much. You've accomplished much. You've followed your dreams. And that's the most important thing of all. You have made me very proud, Anne Wheeler."

Anne clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her sobs in check. Nodding, she listened as Oma continued haltingly, "Anne. W.D. Take care of each other. Stay strong. Be brave. Don't be afraid to be you even though, at times, it can be difficult. It's a cruel world out there - that the two of you already know. But, if you are there for each other and if you listen to what your heart is telling you, you'll be okay. You'll be okay."

"No, no," Anne shook her head stubbornly. "Stop it. Stop it. Please. Oma."

Oma's hand dropped from Anne's temple to her cheek. "I love you, Anne. Never forget that."

As the woman drew her last few breaths, Anne clasped her grandmother's hand in her own and whispered into the cool breeze that blew over them, "Goodbye, Oma."

The next few hours felt like a blur to Anne. All she could remember was the tears, the pain, the heart-wrenching agony, the realisation that Oma was gone...and that she wouldn't be coming back.

The next thing she knew and Anne had awoken from a fretful slumber from beneath the covers of her own pallet in the old, run-down apartment.

Tugging her fingers through her tangled mess of curls, Anne pushed herself up into a sitting position and locked eyes with W.D who was slumped down at the table right across from her.

Clambering to her feet, Anne gazed around the room as a prick of pain stabbed her heart.

The rocking chair where Oma used to sit every evening after supper, knitting and telling stories. The stove where Oma would diligently bake and cook for them every single day. The sink where Oma would wash dishes and sing, all at once. The table where Oma would sit and listen eagerly as Anne read her the daily paper. The window where Oma would stand and watch as droplets of rain pelted against the glass pane.

Memories.

They could be a terrible thing.

"W.D?" Anne queried softly as she approached the table.

Slowly, her brother lifted his bowed head and looked up at her. "Anne," he grunted before motioning to a pot of brewed tea sitting in front of him. "You better have something to drink. It'll make you feel better."

"I think it's going to take more than a pot of tea to make me feel better," she replied as she slid into the chair opposite him. Folding her hands, she placed them on the wooden surface in front of her and tilted her head to one side before meeting her brother's gaze. "It's not going to be the same w-without...her."

"I know," W.D nodded as he leaned across the table to take her hands in his. "But we'll manage...just like Oma said we would."

Anne scoffed and pulled away from him. "How? You've lost your job. We live in a crap-hole. I don't make enough money from the show to help us get to a better place anytime soon. Let's just face the damning truth, W.D - we're nothing. We were born as nothing and we'll die as nothing. Period."

"You're wrong, you know. You're not nothing."

With a start, Anne swivelled around to face the doorway. "Deng Yan?"

"Hi," she sent the siblings a small smile as she walked in and pulled the door shut after her. "Can I sit?" she motioned to the empty chair at the head of the table.

W.D nodded. "Of course. Make yourself at home."

Heaving a lengthy sigh, Deng Yan settled down and looked pointedly at the pair. "This isn't the time to be feeling sorry for yourselves. Oma wouldn't want that. In fact, if she were here, she'd probably slap you into oblivion. You're not nothing. You both came from somewhere. You were both born to be something...and you both will."

Anne narrowed her eyes at her. "Okay, Deng, what's wrong? You don't often talk us up unless something's happened. What is it?"

Deng nibbled on her lower lip and glanced nervously from Anne to W.D. "W-well...I just found this on your front door." Slowly, she retrieved a piece of folded paper from the pocket of her apron and placed it on the table in front of her.

A feeling of dread settled over Anne as she took up the paper and opened it.

That feeling got worse when she saw the words scrawled across the top of the crumpled page.

E V I C T I O N N O T I C E.

"They can't do this to us!" she exclaimed angrily as she slapped the paper down. "T-they can't!"

"Yet...they are," Deng Yan put forth bluntly.

As W.D scrutinised the notice and Anne buried her face in her hands, Deng Yan continued to encourage them. "Look, I have a plan. The three of us don't have much but, if we pool what we have together, we'll be able to make do. Barnum can give us board and food in exchange for work and the occasional roll of bills. We can do it, guys! We'll learn to get by, to be happy again, to make the best of our situation. We..."

"We're not crawling back to Barnum for help like a bunch of pathetic beggars!" Anne suddenly cut in.

Deng Yan and W.D turned to look disbelievingly at her.

"Why...?" Deng Yan began before Anne interrupted with, "Because I'm not going back to the show, okay? I don't want to be a trapeze artist or a gymnast or anything anymore. I'm done. I'm done playing these games. I'm done being used. I'm done doing these shows simply because everybody wants to see the flying-girl-on-the-hoop. No one, not even Barnum, cares about the real Anne Wheeler. All they see is the person in a purple leotard and a pink wig. Well, that changes today...and that starts with me quitting the show!"

Gif: Bec as he leaves the auditorium.

Question of the update: Did the death scene have you emotional at all? Even the tiniest little bit? 'Fess up! Be honest!

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