Petals of Sun

1: Beneath the Sunflower's Weight

The days blurred together for Coco. At fourteen, she was no longer a child, yet far from being an adult. The village was small, and news traveled fast-everyone knew about her mother's illness and her father's failing crops. It wasn't long before neighbors started offering what little help they could, but Coco politely declined most of their offers. It wasn't pride that kept her from accepting their kindness; it was the gnawing fear that if she let go, even for a moment, everything would crumble.

Her younger siblings, Pedro and Isabel, were just seven and nine. They still looked at the world with wide eyes, not fully grasping the depth of their situation. To them, Coco was everything-sister, mother, protector. Each night, after tucking them into bed, Coco sat in the small kitchen of their wooden house, her hands raw from washing clothes and her feet aching from hours spent working odd jobs around the village. She stared at the flickering light of the kerosene lamp, her mind a swirl of worries she had no answers to.

"How much longer will Mama be sick?" Isabel had asked one night, her voice trembling. Coco didn't know how to answer. She had heard snippets of conversations between the doctors and her father, words like "complications" and "uncertain recovery." The truth was, Coco didn't know if their mother would ever return home.

"It won't be much longer," Coco had whispered, forcing a smile. "Mama's strong. Just like you."

Lying had never come easily to her, but this was different. It wasn't a lie she told her siblings-it was hope wrapped in words, a fragile shield against the harsh reality of their lives.

The next morning, Coco rose before dawn, slipping out of bed quietly so as not to wake Pedro and Isabel. She tied her hair back and headed out to the market, where she worked selling fruits and vegetables for a local vendor. It was honest work, but it wasn't enough. No matter how many hours she put in, the money seemed to vanish like water through her fingers, spent on hospital bills, food, and the endless needs of daily life.

As she worked, she caught glimpses of her friends-other girls her age who were still laughing, still carefree. They were planning school dances and talking about crushes. Coco averted her eyes, pretending not to notice. Those things didn't belong to her anymore. Her world had become smaller, focused only on survival.

That afternoon, Coco's father came home earlier than usual, his face drawn with exhaustion. The lines on his face seemed deeper than she remembered, and his shoulders slumped as he sat down at the table. He didn't speak right away, just stared at his hands, rough from years of labor.

"I saw your teacher today," he finally said, his voice heavy. "She asked about you."

Coco felt a pang in her chest. She hadn't been to school in weeks, too busy juggling work and caring for her siblings.

"She said you're missing out on a lot, Coco. She's worried about you."

Coco said nothing, her gaze fixed on the worn wooden floor. Of course her teacher was worried. But school seemed so far away now, like a dream that belonged to another life. How could she explain that to her father, who was already carrying so much?

"You've been doing more than any child should have to," her father continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "But, Coco, you're still a child. I... I don't want you to forget that."

Coco swallowed hard, feeling the familiar sting of tears, but she blinked them away. A part of her wanted to scream, to tell her father that she couldn't afford to be a child anymore, that the weight of their family was on her shoulders and there was no one else to bear it. But instead, she nodded, silent as always.