CHAPTER TWO

Life-changing moments often appear on the most ordinary of days, catching you off guard without any warning or hint that everything is about to shift. As it turns out, I did see him again, but the circumstances were far from ideal.

I was taking out the trash, my hair in a messy ponytail, an oil stain on my top, and battling morning breath. In this less-than-glamorous state, I saw him driving by with his brother. He looked even more handsome than the day before—if that was even possible. I quickened my pace, hoping to avoid his notice, but of course, fate had other plans. He spotted me and waved.

In a moment of sheer panic, I pretended not to see him and kept walking, trying to act oblivious. My heart raced. This was a disaster—how was I supposed to have a normal conversation with him when I could barely breathe without stuttering? And now, he was just a few meters away.

Inside, my mom was on the couch, wrestling with her own demons, a glass of wine clutched in her hand. Her gaze was unfocused, her movements slow.

"Emily?" she slurred, her voice thick with alcohol.

I kept walking, desperate to escape the awkward situation, but her voice grew louder, pulling me back.

"Yes, Mom?" I replied, bracing myself.

"Why doesn't he love me?" she asked, her voice breaking into a sob.

I wanted to say it was probably because she was a pathetic drunk, but instead, I sighed and said, "I don't know, Mom."

Normally, I'd try to comfort her, but today, I just couldn't. I was overwhelmed by my own troubles, and before I could offer any more words, she vomited all over the living room and slumped into it. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming, dredging up memories I'd rather keep buried.

With a heavy heart, I helped her to the bathroom and cleaned her up, trying to make her sober up before tucking her into bed. I then scrubbed the living room, repeating the same painful routine that followed every time my father found another mistress to chase.

As I scrubbed, the weight of it all pressed down on me. It wasn't just the mess and the cleaning—it was the constant reminder of how my parents' dysfunction was shaping my life. Their arguments, betrayals, and chaos felt like a never-ending cycle. It was a harsh reality that I was constantly stuck in the middle of.

Yet, amidst all the noise and turmoil, a small, bright spot lingered in my mind. The thought of him—his dark hair, his green eyes, the warmth of his smile. He had managed to catch my attention in a way no one else had. Despite the chaos at home, thinking about him brought a flicker of hope. It was a reminder that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to look forward to.

As I finished cleaning and sat down, exhausted, I let myself think about that brief, warm encounter. The memory of his easy smile and the way he had looked at me felt like a gentle promise of something better. It was a reminder that even in the midst of life's messes, there could be moments that made everything seem a little brighter.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, allowing myself a small, hopeful smile.