Chapter 1

As my mother and I neared our new house, my emotions were all over the place. I felt a mix of anxiety and anticipation—eager to see my new home, town, and school, yet nervous about starting over. A fresh start was exciting, but it was also terrifying.

Still, no matter how much I longed for a clean slate, I knew I couldn’t outrun my past. I had come to accept that a "normal" life—complete with normal friends and a normal family—was something I would never have.

My reality had become an unsettling blend of fear and heartbreak, and no matter how desperately I tried to escape it, it always found a way to creep back in.

But I had to keep moving forward. Every day was a chance to start again, and even though the hand life had dealt me was so terrible that any gambler would fold in despair, I had to figure out how to play it—to carve out a future for myself and my mom.

As we pulled into the driveway, I hesitated to lift my gaze, afraid of what I might see. But when I finally did, a small smile formed on my lips. The house was a decent size, painted white, with tall palm trees swaying in the front yard. The grass was lush and green, and the landscaping was meticulously maintained.

For a brief moment, an unexpected spark of happiness flickered inside me. But it didn’t last long. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut—this house must have cost a fortune.

I was on the verge of asking my mother how she had managed to afford it when it dawned on me that I probably didn’t want to know the answer.

My mother never had a great job and spent most of her money on alcohol, so I figured it was best not to know who she had swindled to afford this stunning house.

She hadn’t always been an addict, but my father’s death and my brother’s arrest had sent her life into a downward spiral. It affected me too.

As I helped her carry in the few bags we had, I took my first look inside. The house was modern, the kind of place you’d expect to see on Pinterest.

I dashed up to what I assumed was my room and took it all in with amazement. The walls were a soft shade of gray, and massive windows revealed a breathtaking view of the Californian landscape. I even had my own en-suite bathroom.

All I wanted was to collapse on the bed and finally get some sleep—something I hadn't done properly in days.

But with the moving truck arriving tomorrow, I had no choice but to sleep on the dark hardwood floor. Dropping my bags on the ground, I headed back downstairs to the kitchen.

"So, what do you think?" my mom asked with a smile. I was surprised by how sober she seemed. I decided to appreciate it while it lasted.

"It's beautiful!" I said, glancing around the kitchen and leaning against the island in the center of the room.

"Hopefully, we can start fresh here," she said, smiling again.

A strange feeling rose in my chest—something I hadn’t felt in years… hope.

The unfamiliar sensation unsettled me, so I shoved it back down into the depths of my heart, where it would mix with the ink of my fears, turning into something darker.

What if we couldn't start over? It was only a matter of time before my mom started drinking again, lost in thoughts of my fath—

"Your father would have loved this place," she murmured, pulling a flask from her back pocket. She took a deep sip of her beloved alcohol and let out a sigh. Figures…

"I think I’m gonna head upstairs and unpack what I have," I said, eager to change the subject. She simply nodded and looked down as I hurried back to my room.

Closing the door behind me, I gazed out at the vast window-wall. Life would keep moving forward, whether I was ready for it or not.

There was something strangely comforting about the fact that time never stopped for anyone. In a way, it was… peaceful.

I started unpacking the few clothes I had stuffed into my carry-on, along with my electronics. Plugging in my phone charger, I powered on my laptop.

Just as I was about to open Facebook, my eyes landed on a folder tucked away in the bottom right corner of my desktop screen. It was labeled Old Family Pictures.

I hesitated before clicking on it. I knew it wouldn’t lift my spirits, but it had been so long since I last looked at pictures of my family before everything fell apart.

Giving in, I opened the folder and clicked on the first image. It was a childhood photo of my brother and me, hugging and grinning.

A small smile crept onto my lips as I scrolled through pictures of us posing like action movie heroes.

Then I played a video. My dad was tickling my brother, who was laughing uncontrollably, while I jumped in, trying to "rescue" him by tackling my dad. In the background, my mom’s laughter rang out from behind the camera.

As the video ended, I continued scrolling through pictures of my family.

The warmth of nostalgia quickly faded, replaced by the familiar ache of grief as I remembered what we had lost—what we could never be again.

Snapping the laptop shut, I pushed it aside and walked into the bathroom, wiping away a single tear that had slipped from my deep blue eyes.

A knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts. When I opened it, my mother stood there.

"I just got a call from the moving company," she said with a smile. "They're delivering our stuff today instead."

I nodded, and she continued, "I'm gonna head to the store and grab a few things for us."

Before she could turn away, I cut in.

"Um, no. You've been drinking. I'll go. Just make a list, and I’ll take care of it."

A sad yet understanding expression crossed her face.

"I'll go write one," she murmured before disappearing into her room.

When she handed me the list, I left for the grocery store, picking up everything she should have been buying herself.

My mom used to love shopping. She would always come home with fun surprises—random snacks and new foods she couldn’t resist trying. She loved the excitement of it, even if it meant spending way too much money. But that version of her didn’t exist anymore.

Whoever she had become could barely stay sober long enough to think about groceries, let alone keep track of our electric bills. I wondered if she even recognized herself in the mirror. Because I sure as hell didn’t.

I had seen this coming. It was only a matter of time before I ended up taking care of her again while she wasted away, spending every last dollar on alcohol and drugs. This was why I couldn’t afford to have hope.

People like to say, "Hope is the only thing stronger than fear," as if having hope somehow gives you the power to overcome anything. But the truth is, hope ruins you far more than fear ever could. It tricks you into believing things will change, only to leave you drowning in disappointment.

The rest of the week passed as my mom and I settled into our new home.

On the last night before my first day of senior year, I lay in bed, staring up at the stars through my window until my eyelids grew heavy, drifting into sleep.