Three months later.
The sun woke me up.
Not gently. Not kindly. It forced its way through the thin gap in the curtains, landing directly on my face like an accusation. My head throbbed as soon as I opened my eyes, a dull, persistent ache that told me I had been drinking again.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together yesterday.
Nothing came.
Not the middle. Not the end. Just one memory—sharp, unerasable, carved into my mind like a permanent scar. A bedroom. A smirk. Pain.
I swallowed and tried to sit up.
The room spun.
My limbs felt heavy, uncooperative, as if they belonged to someone else. I blinked slowly, letting my eyes adjust, and that was when I noticed the mess.
Clothes scattered everywhere. Mine. Someone else's. A shirt hanging off the chair. Shoes by the door that weren't mine. The air smelled faintly of alcohol and something unfamiliar—cheap cologne.
My stomach dropped.
Not again.
I turned my head.
There was a man lying beside me.
For a split second, I panicked, my heart slamming against my ribs. Then reality settled in, cold and disappointing. I didn't know him. Or maybe I did. I just didn't remember enough to care.
This had become a pattern.
I sat up, the sheets sliding down my body, and nudged him hard with my foot.
"Hey," I said, my voice hoarse. "Wake up."
He groaned, rolling over, squinting at me like I was an inconvenience.
"Get dressed," I said flatly. "You need to leave."
"What?" he muttered. "Already?"
"Yes. Already."
He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. In the daylight, I took him in properly. Light-skinned. Medium height. Toned. Neatly shaved. Handsome in a forgettable way. The kind of man you meet in bars when you're not looking for anything but distraction.
He smiled at me, as if we shared something.
"Can I get your number,at least?" he asked. "I'd like to see you again."
Something inside me recoiled.
"No," I said immediately. "That was a mistake."
His smile faltered. "Damn. Okay."
I stood, gathered his clothes from the floor, and shoved them into his arms, opening the door wide.
"Please," I said. "Just go."
He didn't argue. He dressed quickly and left without another word.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed too loudly in the silence.
I stood there for a moment, naked and hollow, trying not to hate myself.
Fragments of the night floated back to me as I moved around the apartment. Sitting alone at the bar. The low hum of conversation. Him sliding onto the stool beside me. Talking. Laughing. Another drink. Then another.
Then nothing.
I checked the time.
12:30 p.m.
My phone buzzed immediately, as if it had been waiting for me to notice it. Multiple missed calls. Messages. All from my mother.
I didn't open them.
I already knew what they were about.
Money.
Always money. Always requests for things that were never necessary. My mother never asked for rent or utilities; she wanted money for trivialities, for indulgences. And I had kept sending it, telling myself I was being responsible.
I dropped the phone on the bed and headed to the bathroom, turning the shower on full blast. The sound of running water was supposed to drown out my thoughts.
It didn't.
The moment I stepped under the spray, it happened.
The images came back—uninvited, vivid. The bedroom. Janine's face. Elias's voice. The pain.
"No," I whispered, sliding down the tiled wall until I was sitting on the cold floor, water soaking my hair, my clothes, my shame.
My phone rang.
Once. Twice. Again.
I ignored it.
I came out of the bathroom to check it.
Then a message came through.
"Pearl, we just wanted to let you know… your mom is no more."
Everything stopped.
The water. My breathing. The noise in my head.
Reality clicked into place all at once, sharp and unforgiving.
My siblings.
That was the first thing I thought of. Not my mother. My siblings. Their faces. Their fear. The way they would be sitting there, waiting, not knowing what came next.
Who was going to take care of them?
The answer hit me so hard it made me nauseous.
I was.
I had lost myself.
To alcohol.
To grief.
To a man who broke me.
I had broken every promise I ever made to them.
I stood slowly and turned off the shower, stepping out on unsteady legs. The mirror caught my reflection, and I barely recognized the woman staring back.
I wasn't fat—but I had gained weight. The kind that settled when you stop caring. Stress lines framed my eyes. My skin looked dull. My eyes were empty.
"What are you even doing?" I whispered.
I didn't answer myself.
I packed quickly. Threw clothes into a bag. Grabbed my keys. My phone buzzed again—unknown numbers this time. Elias.
Blocked.
Janine—still blocked. Her accounts. Her life. All gone from mine.
Immediately!
I drove back to Roxbury, the township I had spent my whole life trying to outrun. The streets looked smaller than I remembered, quieter, like they were holding their breath. Houses leaned into each other the way people did when they shared the same kind of suffering. Nothing had changed—but I had.
I finally arrived at our house which was fully of people.So it was really true!?The house felt smaller than I remembered.
Different.
Memories rushed in like a flood , standing on a wooden chair at eight years old stirring a pot on what looked like a stove.My mother passed out on the couch, the smell of alcohol thick in the air.My two year old brother then watching me crying like I was already his parent.
The funeral preparations began the moment I arrived. Plastic chairs, murmured prayers, neighbors who suddenly remembered my mother's name. When it was my turn to say something, I stood there with a dry mouth and an emptiness I couldn't translate into words. I searched my memory for kindness, for warmth, for something that sounded like love,but it didn't come.
What I remembered instead was her voice, sharp and tired: Work hard. School is all you have. If you play around, you'll end up like me.
That was all I had.
And maybe,just maybe,beneath the alcohol, beneath the chaos, there was a woman who saw my potential. I didn't know if she wanted better for me or if she wanted better for herself through me. I would never know.
Paul stood beside me, sixteen and hollowed out by silence. He didn't cry. He didn't speak. He just existed—numb, like the world had shut something off inside him. I understood him , I knew why.Rose, twelve, cried for the mother she never truly had but still loved anyway.She was her favorite and never fully experienced her crazy side .Watching her broke something open in me. I cried—not for my mother, but for my siblings. For the damage. For the fear. For the realization that if I didn't stop, I was walking straight toward the same ending.
I hated admitting it, but I saw it then: I was becoming her. Not fully. Not yet. But close enough to be afraid.
That night, I slept in the small house we had survived in. I didn't sleep much. I lay awake knowing what had to happen next. There was no running anymore. I had to take them with me. I had to be the adult. Big girl pants on. No excuses.
During the funeral, I met uncles and aunts I barely knew—people my mother had cut off years ago. They told me they had tried to help her once, tried to send her to rehab. She shut the door on them completely. Told them to mind their business. Told them never to come back.
They looked at me with pride that felt undeserved.
"You're strong."
"You turned out well."
"You've grown into a beautiful woman."
"You're inspirational to those kids"
I stood there,smiling like I was supposed to.Secrets stuck in my throat, like ash.A fraud in this dress.This life !
That was when it settled in,not loudly, not dramatically,but firmly.
I had to become a better version of myself.
Not tomorrow.
Not someday.
Now.