Все главы HIS PAST: HIS BRIDE: Глава 11 - Глава 20

I walk out of the building just in time.My chest is tight, my breaths shallow and uneven, and there’s a sharp ringing in my ears that tells me I am seconds away from a full-blown panic attack. The glass doors slide shut behind me, sealing in everything I’m trying so desperately to escape. Even though it’s the middle of the day and the sun is high above me, my hands are shaking as if night has already fallen.I don’t think. I just reach for my phone.Ella’s number is already memorized by muscle memory, my thumb pressing the call button before my mind can talk me out of it. The phone rings once, twice, three times, and with every second that passes, my heart pounds harder.“Are you free to talk?” I ask the moment she answers, my voice coming out more strained than I intended.“Uhmm… I’m a bit busy right now,” she replies. I can hear movement in the background, voices overlapping. “Is it serious?”I hesitate. I don’t want to burden her if she’s already swamped, but at the same time, I f

The high-pitched wails of Ella's voice pierce through the heavy fog of my exhaustion . They are my new alarm clocks, loud and signaling the start of another day long before the sun has even thought of rising. It is a sound that triggers a physical response in me now, a tightening in my chest, or is it an ache in my arms, and a heavy, mothers or people who have truly loved can relate to this At six months old, Ella and Junior have taught me a hard lesson: life as a single mother isn't as rosy, no matter how much your heart overflows with love for them. The glossy magazines' social media feeds talk about the "glow" of motherhood, but they conveniently leave out the crusty milk stains on every shirt, the dark circles that have become a permanent part of my eyes, and the bone-deep fatigue that makes it hard to stay awake while at work. The reality is a grueling pattern of constant hustling from how I juggle the library shifts, the feedings, and the mountain of laundry, and even though Mo

Knowing Tabitha has so far been the best moments in my life. It isn’t just about the coffee she brings or the easy laughter we share between the quiet stacks of the library; she has helped my mindset travel a long way from the dark, stagnant place where I first started. For the first time in years, I don’t wake up feeling like a ghost haunting my own life. I feel like a person again, someone with a voice.The most jarring yet exhilarating part of our friendship is the way she treats my brain. Especially in those moments where she asks for my input about her business decisions, it reminds me of my past. It’s a bittersweet ache; it reminds me of the high-stakes world I used to inhabit, but in a good way. It proves to me that the knowledge is still there, her trust has helped me build my self-confidence a long way, and that is no joke. When you’ve spent a long time believing your worth is zero, having someone treat your opinion like gold is a powerful strengthTake last week, for examp

After Tabitha leaves the library, I feel empty already. She is off to a date with her favorite godson, the mysterious Cole and I find myself battling a strange pang of jealousy. It isn’t a romantic jealousy, but rather a covetousness of her spirit. You can tell by the way her voice elevates, how her speech sounds more excited whenever she talks about him. He occupies a space in her heart that I am jealous of , sue meI lean back in my chair, staring at the empty chair she leaves behind evrrytime she comes over. Maybe I should invite her over for one of our "book talk" moments. It is being hosted every Sunday after the ladies come back from church.The thought barely forms before I recoil from it. Church. Nope. I don’t do God. I gave up on anything remotely resembling religion a long time ago, buried it in the same shallow grave where I left my optimism. If He was alive, if He was the benevolent architect they all claim Him to be, then why didn't He save my mom when she was dying the

The weight of my reality follows me to my sleep In these dreams, I am always running toward a door that remains just out of reach, my pockets empty and my breath coming in ragged gasps. When I finally jerk awake, it isn’t the gentle touch of the sun that rouses me, but the cold, sharp clarity of my own desperation. I sit up in bed, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, the silence of the house feeling heavyOne thing is undeniable: I need a change. My current existence isnt living, My mother’s recovery is a blessing, a miracle I'm grateful for every hour, but I am haunted by the reality of her condition. The doctors mentioned follow-up surgeries, physical therapy, and a regimen of medications that cost more than my monthly rent. Every cent of this month's salary is already spoken for before it even hits my palm. It is from rent, electricity, the water bill, the grocery list that I keep trimming down until there’s nothing left but the essentials. By the time the bills