PTSD

ISABELLA

"Oh, okay, that's nice," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic, "His profile seems better than the rest." I was just trying to make my mom smile, but deep down, I was skeptical. After all, her past dates had always seemed perfect at first, only to reveal their flaws later on.

My mom's face lit up with a smile, clearly happy that I had given my seal of approval. But in reality, I was still reserving judgment—in my mind, this Sam guy was still a probability, and I wasn't convinced that things would work out between them.

It wasn't like I'd be tagging along on their dates or anything, so I didn't need to overthink it. I just needed to let her live her life—she deserved happiness, after all.

“We would be going on a date tomorrow, and he would be coming with his son.” Mom announced, shining her thirty-two, and I smiled back at her. “Oh, that's great.”

But then she dropped a bombshell: “You will be coming with me to the date.”

I immediately disagreed with the idea, “No, Mom, I don't have to go. You and Sam need to spend more time together… ALONE.”

“Please, Bella, just this once for your mama.”

I let out a groan, already frustrated.

I didn't want to go, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that I should just honor my mom.

What's the worst that could happen, anyway?

Besides, I had been away at college for a while, and now that I was back home, I wanted to make the most of our time together. So, I decided to put aside my reservations and try my best to please her.

I dreaded the date, but time waited for no one; the day arrived.

"I'm back, sweetie!" I heard my mom's voice calling out as she entered the house.

"Welcome back, Mom," I replied from the comfort of my room, my book lying open on my chest. I was hoping she wouldn't ask me to come downstairs and check out the clothes she had just bought.

My mom had gone all out for this date. She'd done a "mini" shopping spree, picking out a new outfit and accessories. But that wasn't all—she'd also gotten her nails done and had her hair styled at the salon. She was clearly really into this guy.

Since yesterday, she'd been bubbling with excitement, humming tunes as she went about her day. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn't help but feel a little happy for her.

Just as I had dreaded, the inevitable happened. "Bella, come check out the ones you like," my mom called out.

I let out a silent sigh, feeling my reluctance grow. I just wanted the date to be over already. I didn't want to go through the motions of pretending to be excited about meeting Sam and his son.

"I'm coming, Mom," I dragged on a shirt and trudged out of my room.

As I entered her room, I was met with a sea of clothes and shoes scattered all over her bed. My eyes widened in shock. "I thought you said mini." I glanced around at the chaos.

My mom chuckled, clearly thrilled with her shopping spree. "Mini, not so mini," she replied, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

I flopped down on the bed, surrounded by the shopping chaos. "But, Mom, I thought you said this year was all about spending properly?" I reminded her, trying to sound reasonable.

She just laughed and said, "Starting now," which only made me roll my eyes in exasperation.

"Now, I want us to pick the one that best suits me," my mom said, holding up an emerald green dress against me.

"That's okay," I replied, trying to sound interested but clearly not enthusiastic enough for my mom's taste.

She made a face, clearly dissatisfied with my lukewarm response. "This one isn't even fine," she said, scrutinizing the dress more closely.

I shrugged, feeling a bit defensive. "You asked, and I gave my opinion," I reminded her. "You know, Mom, I'm not really into things like this. You would have been better off asking Ariana—she would have been more than willing to help.”

We were soon ready to set out for the date; I had worn a black bodycon dress, but this time it was long. My mom had curled my hair, and I couldn't deny the fact that we both looked beautiful.

There was a knock at the door. I turned to my mom, curious. "Are you expecting anyone?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "That must be the chauffeur." A chauffeur? That was a nice surprise. I hadn't known one was coming to take us.

We stepped outside; I was taken aback by the sight of a sleek, black Bentley Continental GT. I wasn't one to be easily impressed by wealth or material possessions, especially when it came to men trying to woo me. But I had to admit, the luxurious car was a stunning gesture.

We exchanged warm smiles and pleasantries with the chauffeur, and before I knew it, we were gliding smoothly out of the city, the twinkling lights blurring together as we made our way to the restaurant.

"This date might not be as bad as I thought," I muttered to myself as we pulled up to the super fancy restaurant.

But, boy, was I freakin' wrong!

The restaurant's ambience was straight fire—soft, classic tunes floated in the background, and the black and red color scheme gave off a luxurious vibe. I was convinced that only the crazy wealthy could afford to dine here.

We made our way to our reserved table, and I couldn't help but notice the huge smile spreading across Mom's face. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as they met Sam's, and I could practically see the excitement radiating from her.

"Good day, my ladies," Sam greeted us with a charming smile, looking every bit the part of a high-roller in his tailored, designer suit. Despite my guess that he was around 50, he had a youthful energy about him, with an agile build that defied his age.

My mom's face turned bright pink as she giggled, and he kissed her cheek. He pulled out the chair for us, and we sat down. "Zade will be joining us soon," he said with a smile. "He has something important to take care of first." His gaze shifted from my mom to me.

Sam was handsome, and I was willing to bet that his son would inherit those good looks too.

There was something about him that seemed like I had seen him before; those piercing honey-brown eyes were quite familiar.

I maintained a neutral expression, sitting up straight, but my eyes suddenly narrowed in on a small detail—a sleek, silver band wrapped around Sam's wrist.

My mind reeled as I stared at the band. PTSD... That's the same bracelet... No, it can't be. My heart started racing as a wave of unease washed over me.

"Excuse me, please," I blurted out, already pushing my chair back and standing up. I didn't wait for a response, my legs moving on autopilot as I hastily excused myself from the table.

"No, it can't be possible," I thought to myself, my mind racing with disbelief as I hastily made my way to the restroom, desperate for a moment alone to process what I'd just seen.

"It's just a coincidence," I repeated to myself, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled in.

The last time I'd laid eyes on that bracelet with the exact same symbol was eight years ago. A wave of dread washed over me as memories I'd long suppressed began to resurface. I couldn't go there. No, no, no.

My mom might not have picked up on it, but I knew I had to discuss it with her—just not yet. After this date, I'd confront her about it. One thing was certain: we were not going back to the mess we'd endured before. No way.

I took a few deep breaths, steadied myself, and exited the restroom. But before I could take another step, I collided with something hard, and my head spun in pain. "Ouch!" I winced, clutching my forehead. As I looked up, my eyes met a familiar pair of honey-brown eyes, and

My heart sank. What...what was he doing here?