Mirabel Collins a 21 year old girl who lost her mother at a tender age has to live with her father who was busy chasing after lifeless notes and coins and didn t have time to take care of his daughter and a step mother who treat her like trash beca...
I wake up, plastering a bright smile on my face. Fake it till you make it, right? It always happens this way—I shove my bad emotions somewhere deep inside, pack them up like an unwanted gift, and push forward. Because what's the alternative? Wallowing? Crying? No thanks.
I brush my teeth, tie my hair into a messy bun, and pop my headset on. Today, I have one goal—to spoil myself.
Not a low calorie food for Jasmine or a quick breakfast for dad
I eat for me.
I have the opportunity to take it hot and refreshing and no I don't have to take peanut butter sandwich cause I'm rushing to work.
I make my way downstairs, keeping my fingers crossed that I don't run into Mr. Asshole. And guess what? Luck is on my side—no sight of him.
I strut into the kitchen, fully ready to embrace my main character moment. A thick, buttery omelet. Beef-bacon sizzling like it's flirting with me. Freshly brewed coffee—not that bitter, sugarless abomination people pretend to enjoy, but real coffee. The kind that makes you close your eyes in appreciation.
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I hum along to the song blasting in my headset, moving to the rhythm as I flip the bacon—
Until someone yanks the headset right off my head.
"HEY!" I whip around, glaring at the audacity standing before me.
A woman—mid-to-late twenties, jet-black hair, eyes burning with fury. She stares at me like I just committed a crime.
"Who are you?" she demands, hands on hips.
I blink. "Excuse me?"
"I said, who are you little girl?" she repeats, louder this time.
Little girl
Oh,she wants a fight.
Her nostrils flare. "So now you're deaf too?"
Lady, if I were deaf, I'd consider it a blessing right now.
She scans the kitchen, eyes landing on my sizzling bacon and beautifully made coffee. And then—oh Lord—she gasps like I just sacrificed a baby goat.
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