"I am not ready to raise a kid."
"No one's signing you up for a Father of the Year award."
The universe is made of stories. And Maeve Fluer-Reyes had her own.
With pictured misfits in her life, the twelve-year-old was up for anything as long as she...
N O T E Hi, beautiful people. I have got a quick favor to ask from all those ghost readers out there who have been enjoying my baby. I'd absolutely love to hear from you in the comments! Writing this book has been a labor of love, and your support means the world to me. They let me know what you're feeling as you read along. So, if you've been silently enjoying the story, I would request you to drop a vote and some feedback. Love you, 3000.
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SEBASTIAN REYES
The minimal light filtering in meant the sun had just begun its cycle. I sat on the floor, with my knees pulled to my chest, the bland walls hovering over me in that instant of vulnerability.
The air broke into the scent of stale cigarettes, a reminder of the previous night spent drowning my thoughts in smoke. It was my normal, a crutch that helped me flee from what I was desperately trying to accept.
My fingers traced the edge of the worn-out photograph—an image of Sierra and me, a reminder of the love we once shared.
Collapsed upon one another, we found ourselves sprawled on the sand, covered in a fine layer of golden grains. Laughter colored the shore, our mouths stretched wide, and tears of happiness streaming down our faces, drawing the attention of nearby onlookers who couldn't resist but share the unfiltered moment.
Our faces were frozen in time, etched onto the frame to tell a story I couldn't bring myself to replay. Instead, I twirled it in my hands, my touch gentle yet hesitant, as if afraid of what it might unleash.
I shifted uneasily on the edge, my foot tapping restlessly on the bronzed wooden floor. A nervous habit that had plagued me since I was a child, a physical manifestation of the unrest brewing within. My leg bounced up and down, incessantly betraying the anxiety pulsating through my veins until I surrendered.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room—the shards falling to the floor once having flung across the space.
I screamed. I screamed louder, carrying a fragile shield to pull myself together.
Staring at the broken remnants, my hands trembled out of raw doing, somehow finding solace in the mess I had created than trying to confront the one inside me.
Unsteadily grabbing the pack from the nightstand, I brought a lit cigarette to my mouth, the bitter taste filling my mouth.
I exhaled slowly, the smoke escaping my lips like a silent plea for making a move. I needed to talk to someone, anyone, even that bagel girl would do at this point.
That kid was definitely a weird one.
Letting the smoke swirl around my face, I was about to lurk into the memory, when someone called my name from behind. I stubbed the cigarette aside, glancing over my shoulder to see my father, having entered my bedroom. He smiled and knelt down to my level.
