chapter 1:My story

10 Years Ago

I couldn't take the frustration anymore.

My mom wouldn't stop telling me who I could and couldn't be friends with. I'd told her a thousand times—Zeke wasn't the person she thought he was. Just because he dressed like a gangster, had a few piercings, and styled his hair like some bad-boy cliché didn't mean he was actually bad.

It was just a look, a facade. Right?

I mean, that's what they always write in books, isn't it?

But she wouldn't listen. She kept going on about how he wasn't a good influence, and eventually, I stopped arguing. Instead, I stared out the car window, silent, ignoring the tense atmosphere for the rest of the ride home.

When we arrived, I was halfway up the stairs when her voice stopped me.

"Twinkle..." Her tone was soft, tired. "I just want what's best for you. He's not the kind of friend who will keep you on the right path. You're too young for all this."

I clenched my jaw.

"Mom, please stop." I turned around to face her, my frustration bubbling over. "We can't keep having this same conversation. You can't judge someone just because of how they dress!"

The words barely left my mouth before guilt crashed into me.

She looked so pale. So exhausted.

I wasn't raised like this. I shouldn't be arguing with my mom over my crush.

I swallowed, about to apologize. "Mom, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

Before I could finish, she collapsed.

I froze. My breath hitched. For a few seconds, my brain refused to process what had just happened. Then it hit me all at once.

"Mom?!"

I dropped my school bag and rushed to her side.

"Mom, this isn't funny! You can't joke around when we're in the middle of a serious conversation!" My hands trembled as I patted her cheek. "Come on, wake up! Mom, please don't scare me like this!"

I tried checking her pulse, but I had no idea what I was doing. I'd barely paid attention when our PE teacher taught us today—I'd been too busy sneaking glances at Zeke.

So instead, I pressed my ear to her chest.

Her heartbeat was uneven.

My lungs tightened. A heavy, suffocating panic settled over me.

"Somebody, help! Please, anyone!" I screamed.

My vision blurred with tears as I clutched her hand. "Mom, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! You were right! I promise I won't be friends with him again! Just wake up!"

I barely noticed the front door swing open until a familiar voice cut through my sobs.

"Mirabel!"

I blinked rapidly, wiping my eyes to see who it was.

Aunt Maya.

She was our next-door neighbor, and my paternal aunt—thirty-seven and still unmarried,

I stumbled toward her, my voice breaking. "Aunt Maya—my mom—she—she fainted! She won't wake up!"

She gripped my shoulders firmly. "Mirabel, breathe. Your mother will be fine, okay? I'm calling 911 right now."

She pulled out her phone, but I was already running back to my mom's side, kneeling beside her. I was so scared.

A few agonizing minutes later, I heard the distant sound of sirens.

Then people in white coats rushed in.

I tried following them as they carried my mom away, but one of them stopped me at the door. Before I could argue, Aunt Maya pulled me into her car, and we sped toward the city hospital.

I couldn't stop crying. Couldn't stop praying.

Please let her be okay. Please.

This is my fault.

If I hadn't argued with her—if I'd just listened when I knew she wasn't feeling well—this wouldn't have happened.

Aunt Maya kept trying to comfort me, but her words barely registered. My head was spinning.

At some point, I turned to her, my voice barely a whisper. "Do you know what's wrong with her?"

She hesitated. Then she shook her head. "No."

But she turned away quickly, blinking back tears.

She was lying.

She knew.

And whatever it was, it was bad.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, closed my eyes, and prayed harder.

Third Person POV

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Mirabel spotted her father sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting area.

The moment she saw him, she ran straight into his arms. "Dad!"

He hugged her back, but it was stiff. Reluctant. She didn't notice.

Between hiccups and sobs, she told him everything.

"We got into an argument, and she—she fainted. It's my fault. I should have listened to her. Dad, will she be okay?"

Her father let out a slow breath. "Don't worry, Mirabel. The doctors will do their best."

Before she could respond, a doctor stepped into the waiting room, scanning a clipboard.

"Mr. Eathan?"

Mirabel's father stood up. "That's me."

The doctor gave him a grave look. "Sir, your wife's cancer has progressed significantly. It's become critical. We need to operate immediately. Please proceed with the payment so we can begin."

For a second, nobody moved.

Mirabel's father stared at the doctor, the words hitting him like a slap to the face.

"C—Cancer?"

It came out as a whisper. A question.

But the truth was already sinking in.

And nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter One is finally done!

I hope you enjoyed the first glimpse into Mirabel's past because there is going to be more of that in the next 4 to 5 chapters, so buckle up.

If you've made it this far, welcome. Stay, read, feel—and don't forget to let me know what's on your mind. Your thoughts matter here.

Stay connected.💫