Meet Scarlett Striker, a bold and quirky journalist for the Seattle Times. She's fun, confident, sassy, and just the right amount of weird. Scarlett is determined to rise to the top, no matter what it takes.
When her boss offers a golden opportunity...
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I sit in the corner of the apartment, the noise swirling around me—family members yelling over the merengue playing in the background, kids running through the chaos, laughter filling every corner of the room. I finish a conversation with one of my cousins, smiling even though my mind is elsewhere. I only get to see them a few times a year, especially now that I live in Seattle, so I play the part. Smiling, nodding, making small talk with relatives I haven't seen in months. But my heart isn't fully in it.
I glance down at my phone. It's almost five. Where are my aunt and uncle? And more importantly, where is Scarlett?
I've been avoiding her, I know. Ever since her admission, ever since she told me she wasn't fully honest with me, it's been hard to face her. It's easier to just... not. But that only gets me so far.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother in her stunning blue jumpsuit, lined with small silver snowflakes that shimmer in the low light. She's a vision, as always, exuding that quiet confidence she wears so well, even while gracefully managing the chaos of another big family gathering. She weaves through the crowd effortlessly, stopping here and there to chat or offer a warm smile, completely at ease in the middle of it all. It's classic Mom— She's always looked as if she's in control of everything, even when things get messy.
I sit there, thinking about how I've been handling everything—or more accurately, how I've been avoiding everything. I told her and my aunt Mia the truth. I'm heartbroken. I haven't seen Chris in a week, and it feels like every day that passes just rubs salt in the wound. I've gone to the office, but he's nowhere to be found. Just emails with task lists. As if that could replace him. As if I could just pretend we're nothing more than work colleagues now. The pain gnaws at me, but I keep smiling.
Suddenly, my mother walks over, a knowing look in her eyes as she approaches. She sits next to me, her posture composed, but I can feel the concern radiating from her. She sees more than I want her to.
"Elizabeth, how are you holding up?" she asks, her voice soft but probing.
I take in a sharp breath, steadying myself, not wanting to let her see the cracks. "I'm fine, madre." I give her my best smile, the one I've been wearing all evening. "I've been enjoying myself." It's not a lie—I have been, on the surface. But underneath, my thoughts are still tangled with Chris, with the pain of being ignored, with the emptiness that follows a breakup that was never fully resolved. But I can't let her see that. Not now.
