Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Together In the Shadows

Cecilia 

I stare out the window of my apartment, watching the rain trickle down the glass. It's one of those late afternoons where the gray clouds wrap everything in their heavy blanket, turning the city into a somber landscape. It matches my mood too well. The Grammy award sits in the corner, glittering mockingly on the shelf. The title of Best Independent Album feels like a distant memory, an achievement that once meant everything but now feels tainted.

The day I announced my break from music, everything changed. My phone blew up—calls, messages, posts, fans begging me not to go. But I had to. How could I continue, knowing the darkness that lurks in the shadows of the industry? Aunt Sharon and Uncle Patrick always warned me, but I thought it was just their own hurt speaking. They would talk about the things they'd seen in the music world, the compromises, the sinister undertones.

"A lot of folks give up their soul for fame, Ceci," Aunt Sharon once told me, her voice low and serious, like she was sharing a deep, dark secret. "It might sound crazy, but it's true. There are things that go on behind the scenes that people don't talk about."

I remember laughing it off at the time. I was just starting out, full of hope and dreams. "Aunt Sharon, it can't be that bad. Maybe it's just rumors."

She shook her head, her expression hardening. "That's what they want you to believe, baby. They make it all seem glamorous. But behind the curtains, it's different. You gotta be careful. Remember, the devil was an angel once."

Those words circle in my mind now, swirling like the rain outside. I rub my arms, feeling a chill that has nothing to do with the weather. My family hasn't heard from me in days, but I don't have the energy to answer their calls or texts. What would I even say? How do I explain the emptiness, the way my heart feels like it's been scooped out of my chest?

My phone buzzes again on the table beside me, flashing "Mom" for the fifth time today. I don't pick it up. My hand hovers over it for a moment, then pulls back. I can almost hear her voice, that soothing tone she uses with her patients, telling me I'm going to be okay, that I need to talk about what's bothering me. But what if I don't want to talk? What if I just want to disappear?

A few minutes later, there's a knock on the door, light but insistent. I don't move. I'm too tired to care about visitors, too drained to pretend I'm okay.

"Cecilia, open the door, please," my mom's voice calls from the other side. "We're worried about you."

We? My heart clenches. It's not just her. They all came. Another voice joins hers—my dad, then Jake's, Zayna's. There's a murmur of voices, the shuffle of feet, and suddenly, I can picture them all crowded outside my door, concern etched on their faces.

I sigh and force myself up from the couch. My legs feel like lead as I make my way to the door. When I open it, I'm met with a wall of worried faces. My mom stands at the front, her hair pulled back neatly, her eyes filled with that therapist mix of compassion and determination. My dad, Luis, has his arm around her, his brow creased. Jake and Zayna look like they've been crying, while the others—Sheila, Carlissa, Lucas, and Eric—stand behind them, trying to smile but failing.

"Ceci, what's going on?" Mom steps forward, reaching out to touch my arm. "You haven't answered any of our calls or messages. We've been so worried."

I look down, avoiding her gaze. My voice comes out barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I just... I needed to be alone."

"We get that," Dad says, his voice gentle but firm, "but not like this, mija. You can't just shut us out."

My mom's hand squeezes mine. "Can we come in?"