Miss Robbの小説

I used to think exhaustion had a limit.Turns out ,it doesn’t.I learned that the first week I started juggling two jobs: the café in the morning and the office-cleaning shift at night. My body felt like it was held together by cheap glue and stubbornness. My feet throbbed, my back ached so much,and sometimes my eyelids fluttered like they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to stay open or give up on life entirely.But college didn’t pay for itself.And life, apparently, enjoyed watching me sweat for every cent.During the day, I served coffees to rude humans who thought “extra hot” meant “throw it at the girl with trauma,” and by night, I swept hallways, emptied trash cans, wiped desks in rooms full of tired fluorescent lights.If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be doing this instead of preparing for university in the UK like Dad wanted… I would’ve laughed them right at their faces.But life changes in the blink of an eye.In a breath, in a scream,In a fire.The office

If someone had told me two months ago that I’d be waking up on a thin mattress in a tiny two-bedroom apartment, listening to Mrs. Sharon’s noisy old kettle whistle like it was dying I would’ve laughed so hard at that person.Or maybe slapped them.Smiles, But here I was.And life wasn’t asking for my permission.I stretched on the small bed, wincing at the ache in my back. Mrs. Sharon’s apartment was warm, cozy, and filled with the scent of cinnamon and laundry detergent. Her two kids Louis and Mara were sweet, and so accommodating always trying to make me laugh, always offering me their snacks as if that alone could fix my reality.But even wrapped in kindness, grief still felt like a brick on my chest.I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, listening to the soft clatter of breakfast dishes in the kitchen. A part of me wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. Another part just wanted maybe the piece my father raised to get me out of bed.Survive, Clara.Survive or get swa

Clara didn’t recognize the girl staring back at her in the mirror.Her cheeks were sunken, her lips pale, her usually bright hazel eyes swollen and rimmed with red. She looked like a ghost or just a shadow drifting between grief and exhaustion. It had been only a few days since the funeral and I must say that -wasn’t a funeral without bodies, without closure, without goodbye and her body felt like it had aged ten years.She pulled her robe tighter around herself as she stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom she had grown up in. The room felt different now… quieter, colder, hollow. Every photo frame, every trophy, every childhood memory seemed to whisper gone.She didn’t hear the door open until a voice broke through the intense thought in her head.“Good morning, Princess Clara,” Mrs. Sharon said softly.Clara lifted her head. The older woman’s voice had always been warm, teasing even when Clara was small and refused to eat vegetables or sneaked cookies at midnight. Mrs Sh

The cemetery was too quiet for New York. Wind skimmed across the grass in thin, cold ribbons, carrying the scent of autumn and the distant sound of city traffic a reminder that life, real life, continued somewhere far away from the place where Clara Langford stood trembling beneath a gray sky. Three headstones. Three names carved into cold marble. No bodies beneath them,No coffins. Just symbols. Empty symbols meant to represent lives stolen by fire and gravity. Edward Langford. Eleanor Langford. Liam Langford. Her father,Her mother,Her baby brother. The markers were arranged in a perfect line, as if the universe insisted on torturing her with the illusion of order in the midst of chaos. Clara stood before them wrapped in a borrowed black coat, the collar pulled tight around her throat. The fabric was too big, swallowing her slender frame. Her eyes were hollow, shadowed by sleepless nights and the exhaustion of grief that no amount of rest could repair. Snow, Liam’s little

Clara’s POV The hospital released me after eight days ,eight days of nightmares, painkillers, condolences, and questions I didn’t have the strength to answer. Eight days of replaying the crash in my mind, even though I didn’t remember the impact just only the fire, the screaming Liam’s hand squeezing mine, and then darkness swallowing everything.. it still feels surreal . When the nurse finally wheeled me outside, the cold New York wind hit my face like a slap.. It was strange how life outside kept moving,cars honking, people laughing, businesswomen rushing past with coffee cups and expensive perfume. The city didn’t pause for my grief. It didn’t know me. It didn’t care. I swallowed a shaky breath as a black car pulled up. Not a limousine, Not the family driver. Just a rental. A social worker opened the door for me. “Are you ready, Miss Langford?? No, Not even a little. But I nodded anyway. The ride to the Langford mansion was painfully silent. My body trembled th

Clara’s POV The first thing I felt was the light. Harsh. White. And Blinding . It pierced through the darkness like a blade and dragged me back into a world I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled my lungs. As I heard the Machines beeped in slow, steady rhythms around me, far too calm compared to the storm in my chest. I blinked several times, my eyelids heavy and swollen. The world slowly came into focus white walls, silver rails, a ceiling too bright, too clean, too painfully alive for a girl who wasn’t sure she was. A hospital,The realization cut through me. I tried to sit up, but the pain hit me like a wave ,sharp, electric, violent. It shot through my ribs and down my leg, forcing me to gasp for air. “Easy, sweetheart. ”A soft voice drifted to my left. A tall beautiful nurse stood beside my bed, her eyes gentle and full of sympathy I didn’t yet understand. She pressed a hand to my shoulder, guiding me back down. “You’re saf