♆ 𝒙𝒙𝒊𝒊. 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆

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The hallway leading to Bronte's apartment seemed to grow longer and longer the more she walked down it

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The hallway leading to Bronte's apartment seemed to grow longer and longer the more she walked down it.

Her palms were sweaty and her whole body shook just at the thought of seeing her mother again. Part of her expected the apartment to be empty and her mother to be at work, but then there was another part that was hoping she was home, just this once.

She stopped in front of the door, hesitating to knock. Her fist hovered in front of the wooden frame, her body swaying back and forth.

Why was she home? Maria Richards was most likely sitting in her little cubicle at her office, scribbling down notes that her boss had told her to get ready. Their next meeting was probably in a few hours, which didn't help reassure Bronte.

Her mother wasn't home.

So why was she so scared?

Bronte sighed, letting out a shaky breath. She knocked on the door, the sound echoing down the hall.

She waited, but nothing happened.

There were no footsteps inside, no one scrambling to the door, no one screaming, "I'll be there in a sec!"

Bronte was all alone in her apartment complex's hallway, with the thought that her mother let her down. Once again.

She dropped her head and turned on her heel, thinking of going back to camp early. Percy would be mad at her, but she didn't want to be alone anymore.

She almost made it to the end of her hallway, when she heard her name be called.

"Bronte?"

Bronte's head lifted and she turned around, seeing the one person she needed most in that moment.

Standing there, in the center of the hallway, was Maria Richards, with tears streaming down her face. She looked tired, as if she hadn't slept in days. Bronte knew she must have looked the same, but that didn't matter.

Bronte didn't take a second before sprinting towards her mother and jumping into her arms.

The two fell to the ground, hugging each other like their lives depended on it. Bronte clutched her mother's cardigan, tears soaking the material.

Maria ran her hand through her daughter's curly hair, untangling the knots as she went. She whispered soft phrases of reassurance, telling her that everything would be okay.

Neither of them knew how long they sat on the floor, but soon enough, people started to come out of their apartments to see who was making so much noise.

And so they moved into their home, continuing to embrace each other.

"Oh, Bronte! I was worried sick! I came home from work and I saw your note! I just, I didn't know what to think or who to call! I just—"

the story of us,     p. jacksonWhere stories live. Discover now