BROKEN VOWS

Chapter Twenty Four: Choices

Rainbow's POV.

Flashback...

"Does it matter right now?" I groaned, my voice laced with frustration, as I watched her meticulously polish the figure. She glanced up at me, our eyes meeting briefly, before she returned her attention to the task at hand.

I let out a deep, exaggerated sigh, just to spite her. The sound filled the air, and she glared at me, her eyes flashing with annoyance. I smiled cheekily, feeling a sense of satisfaction at having gotten under her skin.

She paused again, her hands stilling as she gave me a piercing once-over. Her gaze was intense, as if she was trying to read my thoughts. I held her gaze, my expression unwavering.

"And now?" she asked finally, her voice low and measured. "What will you do?

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication, as if the fate of the world depended on my response. I couldn't resist the piercing gaze of her wise, old eyes, which seemed to hold a deep understanding of the world. Every time she looked at me like that, I felt compelled to open up, to answer her questions and share my innermost thoughts.

"It would be good to have them back," I began, a mix of emotions swirling inside me, "if they can somehow make up for seventeen years worth of bedtime stories and snuggles, not to mention the countless visits to the park, where I was allowed to indulge in unhealthy amounts of sweets, warranting trips to the doctor's office." I laughed, the sound tinged with a hint of bitterness.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, as I continued. "If they would make up for all the P.T.A. meetings and school recitals they've missed. Don't forget birthdays and holiday camps, hugs and kisses for every scraped knee and fall from riding my bike." My voice dripped with sarcasm as I added, "Oh, and let's not forget art supplies! They can finally tell me which of them decided it was a brilliant idea to have a mixed baby!" I exclaimed, my tone laced with irony.

As I spoke, I reached out to steady a figurine that had slid off its perch, my fingers closing around it gently. The delicate ceramic felt fragile in my hands, much like my emotions as I pondered the what-ifs of my past.

Something flickered in her eyes, a fleeting glimmer of understanding, before she asked another question. "Do you ever think that maybe they didn't have a choice but to give you up?" Her voice was laced with concern, her words dripping with empathy.

Of course, I thought about that! I'd spent countless hours as a child imagining an alternate reality, one where my parents were star-crossed lovers, their forbidden romance resulting in my birth. In this fantasy, they'd given me up to protect me, to avoid war or even death. And in this dream world, they'd come back for me once they'd settled everything, and we'd live happily ever after.

But as I grew older, reality set in. I began to see the world and its inhabitants for what they truly were. I realized that nobody was ever coming back for me, that if my parents had truly wanted me, they would've found a better way to raise me than abandoning me. The thought stung, a bitter pill to swallow, but it was the truth. And I'd learned to accept it, to harden myself against the pain of rejection.

"No one should dare tell me that they didn't have a choice," I said, my voice firm and resolute. "People always have choices, no matter how difficult or daunting they may seem. And in situations like this, where the fate of a child hangs in the balance, the choices we make reveal our true character." I paused, my eyes flashing with conviction. "And they made theirs, a choice that left me abandoned and alone."

I wrapped the vintage scarf she'd gifted me two months ago - an early birthday present, as my birthday had actually been last month - around my shoulders. The soft, silky fabric felt comforting against my skin, like a gentle hug, as I walked towards the glass door of the antique shop. The door creaked softly as I pulled it open, and then I paused, turning back to look at Mrs. Watkins before walking away.