All Chapters of Bound By Chaos: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

A month after the bookstore incident I’m starting my morning the way I do most of the time: late. I drop my little sister, Emma, at the bus stop with a hug, a reminder not to climb anything taller than herself, and an “I love you, please don’t get suspended again.” Then I sprint back to my battered Honda that wheezes a little too dramatically when I turn the key.My shoes are dying. Literally peeling apart at the toe like they’re trying to speak to me.I’m also dying. Figuratively. Hopefully.Life was fine a year ago. It wasn't glamorous or easy but at least it was balanced. I had been in my junior year of college, had a boyfriend, and was working part time. Then everything happened with Dad and the world split open.Now I’m twenty-four with an eight-year-old to raise, two jobs, and a sleep schedule held together with prayer and caffeine. Some mornings I can almost pretend I’m adjusting. This is not one of them.The diner comes into view, glowing with its flickering neon sign: MILLIE

By the time we get back to the diner, my head is pounding. Emma is sitting in the booth nearest the register, swinging her legs and coloring on the kids’ menu. Her backpack is beside her, spilling crayons like she tried to outrun them earlier. I figured if she’s busy in the diner she won’t bother Matteo while he jumps my car.“LIBBY! Did you know the school has a turtle? His name is Pancake!”I smooth her hair back, my hands still shaky from the call with the principal.“That’s great, bug. Give me one minute, okay? I’m just going to watch Matteo fix the car and I’ll be right back. It won’t take long.”Emma nods hard enough to risk whiplash and goes back to coloring.“Alright,” he says, eyes landing on my duct-taped shoe like it personally offended him. “Let’s go resurrect your car.”Mortification washes over me. Suddenly I just want him gone. I don’t want to be judged or pitied.“I—I can do it,” I insist too quickly. “You don’t have to waste your time—”He raises an eyebrow.“Libby. T

I wake up when my body decides it’s done sleeping.No alarm. No urgency. Just sunlight slanting through the curtains and the faint, distant knowledge that I don’t actually have to be anywhere at a specific time. I roll over once. Twice. Consider getting up. Then don’t.When I finally do, it’s unhurried. I take a shower and drink some coffee. I choose a shirt that doesn’t require ironing because nothing in my life requires ironing anymore. I check my phone. No missed calls. No emergencies. No one angry that I’m late.A tragedy, really.I stroll into the bookstore sometime midmorning, hands in my pockets, already grinning because I know exactly what face Sofia is going to make when she sees me.She looks up from the counter and sighs like I’ve personally ruined her day just by existing.“Nice of you to join us,” she says.I glance at my watch. “I’m early in at least one time zone.”She rolls her eyes. “You’re late.”“Counterpoint,” I say cheerfully. “I’m here at all.”She mutters someth

She doesn’t say hello right away.I hear movement on the other end of the line—soft footsteps, a door opening, the faint creak of something old and tired. Then Emma’s voice drifts through the phone, sleepy and slurred.“Libby?”“I’m here,” Libby whispers. “Eyes closed, okay?”There’s fabric rustling. A pause. Then—“Love you.”“I love you more,” Libby says, voice gentle in a way that hits me straight in the chest.The line goes quiet again, except for distant apartment noises. Finally, I hear the door open and close, followed by night air.“I’m outside,” she says. “Sorry.”“It’s okay,” I tell her, and mean it.There’s a moment where neither of us speaks. Not awkward—just careful. Like we both know this conversation matters.“I’m not happy about this,” she says finally. No preamble. No apology. “If I wasn’t desperate, I wouldn’t have called you.”The words sting but they don’t surprise me.“I figured,” I say gently.She exhales, sharp and shaky. “I don’t want you thinking this means so

Libby is usually precise.Not stiff—just deliberate. She lines receipts evenly. Straightens displays before they look messy. Notices when a customer needs help before they ask for it.Today, she’s off.She rings up the same book twice and doesn’t notice until the register beeps at her. She reshelves a paperback in hardcover. She keeps checking her purse like it might bite her.I lean against the counter and watch her for a minute before saying anything.“You okay?” I ask.“Yes,” she says immediately. Too fast.I hum. “That was a very convincing lie.”She stills. Shoulders rise. Then fall.She sighs and rubs a hand over her face. “Sofia overpaid me.”That gets my attention.“She gave me way too much,” Libby continues, voice low and tight. “I didn’t open the envelope until I got home. There’s… a lot in there. I need to give it back.”“Why?” I ask, genuinely confused.She looks at me like I’m the confusing one. “Because it’s not mine.”“It is,” I say.“No, Matteo,” she insists. “It’s not