BROKEN VOWS

Chapter Fifteen. A little bit of control

Rainbow's POV.

The next morning...

As I reflected on my childhood at the orphanage, while getting ready for the day one teenage girl stood out in my mind. Her motto, "You only live once" (Y.O.L.O), was a constant reminder of her fearless and rebellious spirit. She was a handful for our mother, always pushing boundaries and testing limits.

When she wasn't running wild with her crew of rough-riding friends, exploring the city's underbelly, she was masterminding creative excuses to ditch school. Faking signatures on sick notes was her specialty – all so she could indulge in retail therapy, try out a bold new hair color, or simply sleep in.

But her adventures didn't stop there. On days when she was feeling particularly restless, she'd vanish for days, sometimes even a week, to explore other towns with her friends. Her whereabouts would remain a mystery until the mothers at the orphanage tracked her down, often with a mix of relief and exasperation.

The girl's antics were the stuff of legend, and her escapades often spiraled out of control. She and her friends would host raucous parties that shook the rafters, vandalize property with reckless abandon, and dabble in hard drugs, courting danger at every turn.

The mothers at the orphanage would often launch a frantic search for her, scouring the town from top to bottom, calling in favors from friends in nearby towns, and even involving the police – until they eventually stopped taking the mothers' calls, throwing up their hands in exasperation. "That kid's got a death wish," they'd say, shaking their heads.

Mama Evelyn, however, would be beside herself with worry, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, her voice trembling as she whispered prayers for the girl's safe return.

Other mothers wouldn't be so charitable. Frustration and fear would boil over into anger, and they'd lash out, saying the girl was self-destructive, a danger to herself and the other kids.

A few months after her 16th birthday, her vibrant flame was extinguished by the ravages of stage four brain cancer. Yet, even in death, she gave life to another, her heart beating on in someone who desperately needed it – a final act of generosity that fulfilled her last wish.

As a child, I was bewildered by her passing. Fear crept in, casting a long shadow over my life. I became terrified of anything that seemed remotely unsafe, convinced that her rebellious lifestyle had led to her untimely demise.

But as I grew into adulthood, the truth slowly dawned on me. She wasn't self-destructive or a danger to others, as some had claimed. At just 12 years old, she'd been dealt a cruel hand – a diagnosis of brain cancer that had left her feeling like her life was already slipping away.

In the face of that devastating prognosis, she'd taken control, living life on her terms, not those dictated by doctors, her illness, or the mothers who'd tried to rein her in. With a fierce determination, she seized every moment, refusing to let her terminal illness define her.

Though her life was brief on this earth, she packed it with adventure, exploring every nook and cranny, and doing everything she set her mind to. She lived life on her own terms, unapologetically and authentically.

As I gazed back on my own life, I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. In just four short years, she'd experienced more, achieved more, and lived more than I had in two decades. I sighed, the weight of my own unfulfilled dreams and aspirations settling heavy on my heart.

I'd been through so much and lost so much, and yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd barely begun to live. But as I stood there, something shifted within me. I realized that it's never too late to start anew, to rediscover myself, and to rekindle my passions.