Dare to Fall

Chapter I

I opened the scrapbook my mom had made for me when I was just three years old. She had gifted it to me on my fourteenth birthday, and it felt like both a treasure and a burden. As I flipped through the pages, the vibrant images pulled me back to a time when everything seemed simpler, happier. Each snapshot told a story of our family—smiling faces at the beach, birthday celebrations filled with laughter, and quiet moments on the couch, just us.

But as I looked through those pictures, a deep ache settled in my chest. My dad had died when I was thirteen, leaving a void that nothing seemed to fill. Four years without him felt like a lifetime of agony, a relentless reminder of all the moments we would never share again. I often replayed our last road trip, a sunny day in Southern California that I had thought would be just another adventure. I never imagined it would be our final memory together.

I lingered on a photo of my dad and me standing beside a roller coaster, my face alight with joy. As I smiled at the memory, tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. It felt so fresh, as if he were just a phone call away. But each day, the weight of his absence grew heavier, and I found it increasingly difficult to hold onto the pieces of him that lingered in my mind.

I set the scrapbook aside, placing it gently on the bed beside me. Gathering my strength, I slipped on some slippers and made my way out of my room. As I descended the stairs, the rich aroma of marinara sauce wafted through the air, beckoning me toward the kitchen. But midway down, I paused, caught sight of my mom standing in front of the hallway mirror, applying makeup.

"What are you doing?" I asked, tilting my head to the side as I studied her reflection.

She dropped the foundation she had been holding, turning her head to meet my gaze. "The usual," she replied, her voice light, but I could hear the tension beneath it.

"The usual" meant another date, another guy from one of the countless dating apps she'd been using. Ever since my dad passed away, she had tried to fill the emptiness in her life with the attention of strangers. I had met several of these men, and with each introduction, I felt a mix of anger and sadness churning in my stomach. I wanted her to move on, but the idea of her with someone else made me sick.

At first, I'd tried to voice my concerns, but my words fell on deaf ears. She insisted that she was simply trying to forget the past and move forward, and that dating was her way of coping. But for me, it felt like an unreasonable escape from our shared grief.

"I bought pizza, by the way," she added, breaking the silence as she finished applying a bright red lipstick.

I glanced at the clock on the wall—it read 7:15. "Please wash the dishes in the sink and do the laundry," she said, her tone casual, as if it were just another chore on the list.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "I'm about to go meet Ethan," I replied, my voice laced with annoyance.

Ethan had been my best friend since kindergarten. We met in Pennsylvania, thanks to our moms, who were friends. From the moment we met, it felt like we had a connection that transcended time. But when I was seven, my mom decided we had to move again, and I left Ethan behind, along with the life we had started to build.

Three years ago, we returned to Pennsylvania, and I was determined to rekindle our friendship. Ethan and I picked up right where we left off, but everything felt different. He had changed. I had changed. And while I was grateful to be back, the return came with its own set of complications.

Now, I found myself crushing on him after all these years, but it was complicated. I never had the courage to confess my feelings, especially after discovering he had a girlfriend. They had been together for four years, and though I tried to hide my feelings, it was like carrying a weight on my chest. The more I watched him from the sidelines, the more my heart ached.