Chapter One: Rain and Ruin

Sophia’s POV

The rain poured down heavily, accompanied by flashes of lightning and mumbling thunder.

I stood at the hospital window, watching it fall with hypnotic rhythm. Despite the gray skies and the cold wind creeping through the cracks of the old windowpane, there was something oddly peaceful about it. The droplets raced down the glass like tiny rivers, their chaotic descent matching the turmoil inside me. Yet, somehow, the sound was calming — as if the heavens knew my pain and wept with me.

I pressed my forehead gently to the glass and let my eyes close for a moment, allowing myself to believe the rain was washing away my pain — the pain of watching my mother wither away, the pain of counting coins for pills, the pain of pretending I wasn’t falling apart.

“Sophia, you’ll catch a cold,” came a soft, familiar voice from behind me.

I turned quickly. “Mom!” I hurried toward her.

Her voice was weak, yet her smile remained the same — tender and bright like the first morning sun. “I want to sit up,” she said.

Without hesitation, I adjusted the patient bed’s crank and gently helped her sit up, fluffing her pillow behind her back.

“Mom, how are you feeling?”

“I’m good, my dear.” She gave me a tired smile. “How long have you been here?”

“Not quite long. You’ve been sleeping like a baby,” I said, chuckling softly. She smiled back.

“What about your dad?”

“He’s okay. He just stepped out a while ago — probably arguing with the vending machine again.”

She let out a chuckle, her shoulders bouncing slightly. “That man could lose a debate to a doorknob.”

I laughed, adding, “Do you remember that time he tried to fix the microwave with duct tape and a spoon?”

Her laugh turned into a wheeze. “Oh God! He swore it would ‘channel heat more efficiently.’ I nearly died of laughter when it exploded and fried his eyebrows!”

We both laughed until we teared up. For a moment, the weight on my shoulders lightened.

Then her expression shifted. More serious. More… motherly.

She reached out and took my hands in hers, stroking my fingers gently. “Sophia, you are my rock. I’ve been holding out this long because of you.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “But don’t stress yourself trying to find money for my surgery. Everyone gets to die one day. I guess this is just—”

“Mum!!!” I cut in, a tear already sliding down my cheek. My voice broke into a sob, and I couldn’t speak anymore. My lips trembled, and the words got lost somewhere between my throat and my heart.

She gently wiped the tears away with her frail fingers. “Don’t cry, my baby. You know you look like a boiled potato when you cry. Do you want the stray dogs to carry you away again?”

I sniffled. “Mom!”

“I’m serious,” she said, feigning a stern expression. “Remember when you got caught in the rain and looked like a wet sponge? The neighbor’s dog chased you all the way to the front door!”

I couldn’t help it. I burst into laughter through the tears. “You said I looked like a drowned duck!”

“And you waddled like one too,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

I held her hand tighter, trying to memorize every detail of her face — her thinning eyebrows, her sharp cheekbones now dulled by fatigue, her once rosy lips now pale and chapped. Her skin had lost its glow, and her eyelids were dark with constant sleep. She looked tired. So, so tired.

“Mum,” I said softly, “I’m not a baby anymore.”

She smiled. “You’ll always be my baby. Even when you’re ninety and bossing around your own grandchildren.”

“You’ll be there to spoil them first,” I whispered.

Her smile faltered for just a second before she whispered, “I hope so.”

**********

Ever since Mum was diagnosed with a brain tumor, our world had been caving in like a house built on sand. My dad had tried everything — selling his shop, borrowing from friends, then strangers, then anyone willing to lend — legal or not.

I picked up part-time jobs like they were candy at Halloween. I’d done waitressing, cleaning, tutoring — even stood in for someone at a kids’ party dressed as a pineapple once. All for scraps that barely covered medications, let alone surgery.

Now, the doctors said time was running out. And we were running on empty.

But Mum… she was always the strong one. Even now, as her body betrayed her, her soul still glowed with warmth.

I sat beside her as she slowly drifted back to sleep. Her fingers loosened from mine, and her breath evened out. I looked at her, asleep now, her breath shallow but calm. Her beauty remained, even in sickness. Her skin, though pale, still carried that maternal glow I’d always known. Her eyelashes fluttered a little, as if chasing something in her dreams.

A lump lodged in my throat.

My mind drifted back to a different time — a warmer time.

**********

I was seven. It was a Sunday morning, and the sun beamed brightly through our little kitchen window. The radio was playing something old and jazzy, and Dad was pretending to dance with a spatula.

Mom was making pancakes in her polka-dot apron, flipping them with dramatic flair while humming the tune. I had flour on my cheeks and was wearing Dad’s oversized T-shirt like a gown.

"Come on, pancake princess!" Dad cheered, twirling me around.

I shrieked with laughter. Mom threw a pancake at him — which he caught with a plate.

"Perfect aim!" he declared. "That’s why I married her!"

Mom blew a kiss toward him. "Because I keep you well-fed."

"And loved," he added.

And I — standing between them, dizzy from twirls and joy — felt like the richest girl in the world. That was before the hospitals, the loans, the debt… before the shadows swallowed our light.

I got up gently, tucking her in carefully like she used to tuck me in as a child. I returned to the window, but the storm outside had lessened. The rain had turned into a soft drizzle, as if the clouds had wept enough for the night.

Funny. The sky felt in sync with me — my emotions slowly draining, heart slowing, chest tightening. The kind of silence before everything falls apart.

Then suddenly, a sound pierced through the quiet air.

"Knock! knock!"