Someday, Someway

The First Meeting

The soft morning light streamed through the wide windows of Lorraine Martino's apartment, casting a delicate golden glow over the polished wood floors. It was a serene, almost tranquil scene, yet the calmness it offered felt at odds with the heaviness that weighed on her chest. Lorraine sat at her desk, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the wooden surface, barely aware of the soft tapping sound they made. Her eyes were fixed on the computer screen in front of her, but her mind was elsewhere, far removed from the emails she had intended to send.

Today was her first day at a new job, and despite having meticulously planned everything the night before, a sense of unease lingered. She had laid out a crisp white blouse, tailored navy slacks, and her favorite pair of black leather heels, each piece carefully chosen as if it were armor for the day ahead. Yet, as she sat there in the quiet of her apartment, a feeling of uncertainty gnawed at her.

Her gaze drifted to the framed photograph on her desk—a snapshot from her childhood. In the picture, a younger Lorraine, perhaps six or seven, stood between her parents. David Martino and Krystal Soo had always been an odd match, even to her younger self. David, with his calm, steady presence, seemed worlds apart from Krystal's larger-than-life energy.

In the photo, her father stood with a quiet smile, his arm protectively draped around her shoulders. David had been a man of simplicity, content with the ordinary pleasures of life. She could still see him, sitting in their small living room, a well-worn book in hand, his face partially hidden behind the pages as he lost himself in the world of words. His steady, unassuming presence had been a constant in Lorraine's life, a grounding force amidst the chaos.

Her mother, Krystal, had been the opposite—a whirlwind of ambition and vivacity, always reaching for more. Lorraine sighed, leaning back in her chair as memories of Krystal flooded her mind. Krystal Soo had been a star from the moment she stepped onto the Hollywood scene, and the world had fallen in love with her. Cameras followed her everywhere, capturing her every move, every smile, every scandal.

As a child, Lorraine had thought it was thrilling to have a famous mother. She'd watch as Krystal swept into rooms, turning heads and commanding attention. But as the years passed, the excitement faded, replaced by a growing resentment. Lorraine could still picture the paparazzi camped outside their house, waiting for a glimpse of Krystal, speculating on her latest movie or the rumors about her love life. Fame had consumed her mother, and with it, their family.

The distance between them had grown with each tabloid headline, each red carpet appearance. Birthdays were missed, promises broken, and eventually, Krystal's focus was no longer on them but on maintaining her image. Lorraine had given up competing for her mother's attention. Why bother? Krystal's world of flashing lights and glamorous events seemed far too distant from the small, quiet life she shared with her father.

Her father had been the one who stayed. He was always there—at school plays, parent-teacher meetings, even mundane moments like helping with homework. David, for all his quietness, never missed an important event in her life. His pride in her had been a comforting balm, a counterbalance to her mother's chaotic world.

The tension between her parents had been palpable long before they separated. Lorraine had felt it, even at a young age. Their arguments were never loud or explosive, but they were there—subtle shifts in tone, long silences at the dinner table. Krystal's star kept rising, pulling her further away from them. And David, for all his patience, couldn't compete with the allure of fame. Eventually, their family fractured, and Lorraine was left to navigate the pieces.

Lorraine's mind flashed back to the day her mother moved out, taking only what she needed for her glamorous new life in Hollywood. She could still see herself standing in the doorway, clutching a small suitcase, watching as her mother's sleek car disappeared down the road. Krystal had promised visits, fun weekends together in her mansion, but those promises were as fleeting as the cars that passed by their quiet home. The weekends were few, and when they did happen, the mansion felt cold, its chandeliers and marble floors more like a set than a home.