Living with the Harringtons

I must to leave

5 weeks later...

It was raining again, Amaya thought to herself as it started to pour outside her bedroom window. She wasn't surprised since it was almost fall. She was finishing packing her clothes for the trip, and the clock had just hit 6:35 a.m. The light from her bedside table was the only source illuminating her delicate features and long, silky hair.

The suitcase was filled to the brim, and she struggled to close it shut. Finally, she sat down on the suitcase to compress her clothing, and the zipper clasped shut, leaving her almost out of breath.

She sighed under her breath as she heard her grandmother's panicked voice calling from downstairs: "Are you done yet, Amaya? I told you you should've finished packing yesterday. You must start going; the car is already waiting outside for you." Amaya rushed downstairs, suitcase in hand, and made her way to the front entrance, where her grandmother was waiting, smiling lightly at her.

Amaya swiftly threw on her coat and slid into her favorite beat-up white sneakers. She embraced her grandmother, who held her tightly as she started speaking: "I love you and miss you so much, darling. I know your mother would feel the same way. You'd better call me when you get the chance, because if not..." Her grandmother paused, lifting a finger as she glanced briefly at the photo of Amaya's mother with a knowing look, then back at Amaya. Her lips slowly curved into a warm smile as she continued, "I will have to come and get you." Amaya smiled, nodding gently as a tear rolled down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away.

Amaya knew it was time to leave, even though part of her wanted to stay in her little town that nobody seemed to know or care about. She lived in Briddlemere, a small town in northern England.

At seventeen, Amaya was no stranger to moving. In her short life, she had moved seven times. With her mother, she had never settled in one place for long. They seemed to hop from one small town to another, like an endless cycle.

This changed however after her mother was diagnosed with stage 3 cancer in her right knee, dying shortly after.

Amaya was left devastated, missing her mother dearly, even though they had a complicated relationship.

 Anne Andersson was a paranoid woman, and Amaya often questioned her mother's bizarre behavior.

Whenever she asked about her father or why they moved so frequently, her mother would dismiss her inquiries with vague excuses.

After Anne's death, while going through her belongings, Amaya stumbled upon a photograph of her parents—Anne and Alexander Harrington. 

The inscription on the back revealed a truth that had been kept from her: she was a Harrington.

The young girl had been kept in the dark all her life about her family.

She couldn't shake her curiosity about them. Who were these people she was connected to, and why had her mother hid this fact from her?

One day, the phone rang. It was Vivian Harrington, which turned out to be her father's adopted sister, reaching out after Anne's death.

Vivian extended an unexpected invitation, offering the orphan a place to stay in London with her newfound family and the chance to attend the prestigious Westminster Academy. She initially felt hesitant, consumed by grief and uncertainty. She didn't want to leave,  but knew she had to. Her grandmothers financial resources were limited and moving to London seemed like the only viable option.  

After a final hug, she stepped back and said her goodbyes before heading out the door with an umbrella. A car was waiting for her—a sleek, black, expensive-looking vehicle. She couldn't help but wonder why they would send such a fancy car.

"Amaya Andersson?" the driver asked as he stepped out. "Yes, that's me," she replied, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach. "I'm here to take you to the Harringtons" he said, gesturing for her to get in, which she happily obliged to. 

As she slid into the car, the driver loaded her luggage. She took a moment to absorb the surroundings. She appreciated that the driver loaded her luggage, since it was incredibly heavy, and Amaya wanted to avoid shitting herself while trying to load it herself.

The car was luxurious, with smooth leather seats and a quiet hum from the engine. It smelled new. She glanced out the window and it was excitement that she felt—a feeling she hadn't experienced in a while. 

Just as the car began pulling away from the driveway, she caught a glimpse of Noah, her best friend. She could barely see him, but she could never mistake his blonde hair and crooked smile. He was out of breath, waving for the driver to stop. Amaya wanted to stop the car and say her final goodbye, but something held her back and she just froze.