"ꜰᴜᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʀᴀᴜʟ" ɪ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ʟᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ.
Angel's life has been quite a roller coaster ride since she graduated with an exceptional degree from one of the finest schools in her hometown.
Securing employment proved to be ch...
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The morning sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting golden strokes across the penthouse. I blinked against the light, stretching my limbs beneath the soft sheets.
The city below was already alive, traffic humming, people moving like tiny dots in a complex dance. For a moment, I just lay there, absorbing the stillness before the day officially began.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand and sent a quick text.
Me: Luca, I'm coming.
Luca: Bring coffee.
Me: Already planning to.
With a sigh, I pushed off the bed and made my way to the closet, picking out a sleek black blouse and high-waisted pants.
Simple, elegant, professional. I pulled my hair into a loose ponytail, smoothed a hand over the fabric, and grabbed my purse.
By the time I stepped out, a sleek black car was already idling at the curb. No surprises there. I knew who was responsible for it.
"Good morning." I greeted the driver as I slid into the backseat without waiting for his response, buckling up as the driver pulled away from the penthouse.
I had the driver stop by a small café near the hospital, grabbing two cups of coffee, one for me and one for Luca.
Then, I made a quick detour to a Chinese takeout place, ordering his favorite—orange chicken and chow mein.
When I finally stepped into the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic mixed with the lingering scent of the food in my hands. It was painfully familiar. Too familiar.
I walked past the front desk, nodding at the nurse on duty. She recognized me instantly.
"Goodmorning, Angel. Your mom is awake," she informed me, her voice kind, and a smile plastered on her face.
"Thank you." I murmured, shifting the coffee cups in my hands.
Luca and I had been accompanying our mom to the hospital for years, yet seeing her in that bed never felt any less unsettling.
She had always been the heart of our home—warm, strong, sometimes controlling, and impossibly perfect. But I'd take that version of her over this—pale, fragile, and barely clinging to her usual spark.
She looked smaller, and the sight of her like this sent a sharp ache through my chest. But her smile, as always, was full of light.
"Sweetheart," she breathed, reaching for my hand.
I carefully set the food down and leaned in, wrapping my arms around her in a gentle hug.
"Hey, Mom."
She squeezed my fingers, her touch weak but reassuring. "You look beautiful, as always."
I smiled. "And you look better than the last time I saw you."
