The Accidental Fate.

Chapter 1: Preschool.

Rosie.

I woke up extra early that morning, the sun barely peeking out over the horizon. The house was still quiet, the kind of silence that only comes at dawn. I slipped out of bed and reached for my silk robe, its smooth fabric a comforting reminder of the luxury I was accustomed to. As I wrapped it around myself, I felt a slight chill from the marble floors beneath my feet. 

I quietly made my way to Michael's room, careful not to wake anyone else in the mansion. Our home was an expansive estate, a testament to my father's success. He had built a thriving company from the ground up, ensuring that my childhood was filled with every comfort and privilege imaginable. The long hallways, adorned with portraits and antique furnishing, echoed my footsteps as I walked. 

When I reached Michael's door I paused for a moment, listening to his soft, rhythmic breathing. I gently pushed the door open, revealing his small form nestled under the covers. 

The room was cozy in vibrant space, with a few key places reflecting his love for hockey. The bedspreads featured  a fun hockey motif, and above the bed hung a large poster of his favourite player, Nathaniel Hart. Picture frames with photos of famous hockey moments and Michael's own little league games hung on the walls. In one corner, a couple of hockey sticks and a helmet were neatly propped up, ready for play. 

Michael stirred slightly as I approached, his little hand clutching the edge of his blanket. He looked so peaceful and innocent, a stark contrast to the whirlwind that had brought him into my life. Becoming a mother at eighteen had been unexpected, to say the least, but looking at him now, I couldn't imagine my life without him. The challenges had been immense but they had also shaped me into who I was today. 

I leaned down and gently kissed his forehead. "Good morning, sweetheart," I whispered watching as his eyes fluttered open. His sleepy smile warmed my heart, a daily reminder of the love and responsibility I carried with me. 

"Morning, Mommy," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

"Time to get ready for preschool," I said softly, pulling back the covers. Michael sat up and stretched, his little legs dangling off the bed. 

We went through our usual morning routine, the familiar steps bringing a sense of normalcy to my otherwise unpredictable life. I helped him pick out his clothes-a pair of jeans and a dinosaur-themed t-shirt, his favourite. As he got dressed, I thought about the day ahead, the responsibilities waiting for me outside the walls of our home. 

Once Michael was ready, we made our way to the kitchen, where Maria, our housekeeper, had already prepared breakfast. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and pancakes filled the air. My parents were already seated at the table, my father engrossed in the morning newspaper, while my mother sipped her tea gracefully. 

"Good morning," I greeted them, guiding Michael to his seat. 

"Good morning, dear," my mother replied, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Michael. "Did you sleep well, darling?"

"Yes, Grandma," Michael answered, beaming at her. 

Breakfast was a lively affair, filled with light-hearted chatter and the clinking of cutlery. Despite the grandeur of our surroundings, these moments of family togetherness grounded me. After breakfast, it was time to head out. I grabbed my keys, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead. 

As we drove to preschool, Micael chatted excitedly about the activities he was looking forward to. His joy was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the early hour. Dropping him off was always bittersweet-watching him grow and become more independent filled me with pride, but I also missed his constant presence.