She ate once a day, sometimes not at all. She skipped every indulgence. Every outfit was thrifted, every dollar saved. All for Jamie’s surgery. All for a future that didn’t constantly feel like a countdown.
She returned to the bedroom in silence, tugging on an old hoodie and curling up on the thin mattress beside her brother’s room. She stared at the ceiling in the dark, letting the silence wrap around her.
Next week would be better. Her new schedule-MWF at Blackwood, classes in the evening, barista work the rest of the week-was brutal but doable. She just needed to find the rhythm. Find the balance.
And keep flying under the radar.
She had to.
Because she couldn’t afford to lose this chance.
The thought haunted her into sleep.
Sometime past midnight
The nightmare came as it always did – uninvited. Relentless.
She was 18 again, laughing in the kitchen, her mom smearing frosting on her cheek while her dad held up a cheap balloon that read Congratulations, Adult!
Jamie was small, giggling with two front teeth missing.
Then everything changed.
Flash. Sirens. Screams.
The cake hit the floor. The balloon popped.
She was running.
Metal twisted. A crumpled sedan. A stretcher.
The cold burn of antiseptic and the unforgiving white of hospital walls.
“Are you the daughter?” someone asked.
She nodded.
“Can you identify the bodies?”
Her knees buckled.
She was screaming and no one heard her. Crying and no one answered.
And then Jamie, so small, so fragile, looked up at her and asked:
“Are they gone?”
She woke with a gasp.
Her chest heaved as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Sweat clung to her skin. She didn’t scream.
Never did.
Just shook in silence.
Jamie stirred in the next room, but didn’t wake. Maya squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath.
Another.
And another.
It was just a dream.
But the grief never really left. Just… learned how to wait.
She reached for the cracked phone charging on the floor and checked the time. Almost 4 AM.
A few hours before Jamie’s appointment.
Before she had to smile again. Be strong again.
She curled tighter under the blanket, staring at the peeling ceiling above.
Some nights, the past refused to stay buried.
But tomorrow, she’d smile for Jamie.
And next week, she’d find a new routine.
Because she had no other choice.
The night dragged on, and once again, sleep never came. By 6:00 AM, her phone alarm rang, slicing through the stillness. Maya dragged herself out of bed and tiptoed into Jamie’s room. He was still fast asleep, curled up peacefully under the thin blanket.
In the kitchen, she began preparing breakfast-pancakes, a rare treat in their home. But she’d managed to grab a few boxes of instant mix the last time she went grocery shopping. It had been on sale, and with a bit of creative budgeting, she squeezed it into their tight allowance – for Jamie, always for Jamie.
Just before 7:00 AM, Maya set the last pancake on the plate and wiped her hands on a towel. She headed to Jamie’s room and gently nudged his shoulder.
“Hey,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Time to get up. We’ve got an appointment at 9:00. Don’t want to be late.”
He stirred, blinking up at her.
“Morning,” he said hoarsely. “How late did you get in?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He sat up slowly. “You need more sleep.”
“And you need to shower,” she teased lightly, tapping his leg. “I made pancakes.”
That earned her a smirk. “Guilt pancakes?”
“Celebration pancakes,” she corrected. “Today’s going to be a good day.”
Jamie stretched, wincing slightly. “I’m holding you to that.”
Jamie was so innocent. So young. Carefree in his own way, despite everything. But as she watched him sit up, still fragile, still far too pale, her heart quietly cracked. He was brave. Braver than any fifteen-year-old should ever have to be. But still… frail.
While he showered, Maya moved around the small bedroom with practiced ease. She made his bed, picked up a pair of socks from the floor, and folded his hoodie at the end of the mattress. It was part of her routine. Quiet acts of care. Her way of showing love. Her way of keeping things together.
Even when the world kept trying to pull them apart.
They sat down to eat a little after 7:30.
He ate slowly, deliberately, eyes occasionally flicking toward her. “You didn’t sleep,” he said at one point, not asking-stating.
slept enough.”
“You had a nightmare, didn’t you?”
She paused. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
They stared at each other across the small table. She wanted to lie. Pretend. But she didn’t.
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
He didn’t press her. Just nodded once and returned to eating.
It was his way of protecting her. Of carrying a piece of the weight.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.