Maia Mesa grew up with her family in Cuba, but that suddenly changed, and she found herself in a position no one wishes to be, without family.
Marcus Burnett, a repentant and good soul takes her as his own daughter, as well his wife Theresa, a new...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
•¤¤¤《《《》》》¤¤¤•
The sun is shining brightly, casting a warm, golden hue over everything as we gather in the park. The air is fresh, carrying the scent of the trees and the delicious aroma of food being prepared. It's a perfect day, one of those rare moments where everything feels just right. Rita, Kelly, and Dorn are sitting nearby, deep in conversation, their laughter mingling with the sounds of children playing in the distance.
Reggie and I stand side by side at the table, the sun warm on our backs as we work, the scent of fresh herbs and marinated chicken filling the air. The sound of Rita, Kelly, and Dorn's laughter floats over, a soft, joyful hum that underscores the day's rare tranquility. I glance at Reggie, his expression focused as he expertly seasons the chicken, his hands moving with a steady rhythm that's become second nature over the years. There's something deeply reassuring about this moment—the simplicity of preparing a meal together, the quiet connection between us as a family who've weathered so much.
It's only been a few days since everything went down, and though I'm trying to act like everything is back to normal, my body reminds me otherwise with every step. The wound in my thigh still throbs, and I can feel the tension in the tendons every time I move. It's a sharp, nagging pain that I can't fully ignore, but I refuse to use crutches or any kind of support. I'm not used to sitting still, to being patient. The doctors said I was lucky it didn't hit an artery, but there's nothing lucky about the reminder of how close I came to losing the ability to walk, to run, to fight.
I can still see Dad's face when he saw me, the concern and anger etched on his features as I tried to assure him I was fine with a forced smile. And then there was Mom and Megan—they cried like babies when they saw how bruised I was.
My efforts to keep going that day cost me more than I'd like to admit. I strained the tendons in my leg, and for two days, I couldn't even stand, let alone walk. But now, I'm better—or at least I'm getting there.
I know I should be taking it easy, letting myself heal properly, but there's a part of me that can't stand the idea of being seen as weak or vulnerable, especially now. So, I push through the discomfort, limping my way through the day, pretending it doesn't hurt as much as it does.
"You're getting pretty good at this," I remark, a teasing lilt in my voice as I hand him another piece of chicken. "One day, you might even outshine Dad."
Reggie smirks, a rare flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes as he accepts the chicken. His silence is familiar, but today it feels less heavy, more comfortable. We've always had a way of communicating without needing many words, and I'm grateful for that now.
"Remember when Dad tried a new recipe to celebrate Megan's pregnancy?" I continue, the memory bringing a grin to my face. Reggie's eyes brighten, a subtle acknowledgment of the shared memory. "He nearly set the backyard on fire. Mom was so mad, but he was so proud of himself for 'making it work.'"
