I'll never forget the sound of glass shattering that night. The moment everything I knew about family, loyalty, and love crumbled into pieces. My mother's screams, the sight of clothes strewn across the floor, and the blood dripping from my father's swollen knuckles from a fight, not with my mom, but with the enemies she had formed."What do you mean you're leaving?" His voice roars, surging with the endless fury he'd always tried to suppress."I'm leaving..." she says calmly, her voice trembling as she struggles to gather her clothes into a battered suitcase-the only one she could salvage after my father's rampage, all to stop her from leaving."You can't just leave! You have a child!" He storms over, bending down to grab her hand, pulling her back to face him, only for her to turn away, wiping the tears streaming down her face."Don't touch me!" she retaliates, shouting just loud enough to make me flinch. My back is almost sinking into the cold wall. "I have a life to live! I kept this family up while you slacked around, wasting away in that chair." She finally loses it. "I made the money, I took on dangerous jobs-did it all to what? Watch this family fall apart?"She turns her head sharply to meet his stunned gaze."What do you mean, fall...?" he mutters, the words barely audible, but enough for me to hear. "Ivy! What do you mean by fall?" His voice picks up as he grabs her, his eyes demanding an answer she didn't give-but soon will.And like Ivy Romero, my mother, said, she left.My father and I were left alone, unaware of the events that would unfold due to her leaving, but it soon became painfully clear. Debt, enemies we never knew she had-so we fled, taking the little money Mom had saved for us in the bank. It was barely enough to get us out of state and to somewhere safe.But we made it. We rebuilt. And now, here we are.The chimes of the doorbell at the store ring out, and I turn my head from the counter where I'm taking an order from a customer to meet a regular walking in, his eyes glued to his phone as he joins the line.As always, on his phone. I shake my head and continue with the woman's order, gesturing for her to have a seat while I prepare it. I move behind the counter and head to the back, where two chefs are already working on customer orders."Order number 18!" I yell, just loud enough for them to hear.Shaking their heads in unison, I place it on the table with two other orders already waiting and head back out to meet Kendra, who's coming back inside after delivering completed orders to customers."I'm so exhausted," she mutters in my ear just as I pass, and I smile, holding back a laugh on the verge of spilling out."I know, right? But since Dad's not here, we'll have to make do with what we've got," I whisper back before returning to the register.After a few more customers and orders, I finally spot the familiar face of Amia, always here during his lunch break. No matter how long the line is, he'll always wait for his food. It's like a routine, and sometimes I can't help but ask him-"Don't you get tired of eating here?" I ask aloud, probably the sixth time this month, but it's necessary-because is he a psychopath, or does he really like our food that much to buy it almost every day?A chuckle escapes his thin lips as he adjusts the hems of his typical white and black suit. "I really just like you," he says, eyes widening in shock for a moment before he clears his throat. "I mean, the food," he corrects himself.I smile and stifle a snicker. "Well, sir, what would you like today?""Number 20, please. Alfredo and shrimp," he replies, running his hand through his sandy blond hair."Big lunch today," I say calmly as I type in the price."Yeah, gotta get the calories in," he says, opening his wallet and handing me a hundred-dollar bill. "Keep the change.""Oh wow, generous today, I see," I say with a smirk, writing down his number on the receipt and carrying it to the back."Onelia, it's time for us to switch," one of the chefs says as he walks up, removing his apron and handing it to me.Finally.I put on the apron and begin cooking, swiftly chopping vegetables and putting the pasta to boil while working on the shrimp. The kitchen is where I thrive. It's the place I always want to be. Yet, even though I'm great at cooking, my father won't let me stay in the back for more than 50 minutes a day.He says the kitchen is dangerous, but I know the real reason-it reminds him of Mom. Cooking was her passion, and she was incredible at it. But after getting together with Dad and having me at such a young age, her dreams were put on hold. She never got the chance to attend Sigil College and pursue her culinary studies.Instead, she had to find other ways to make money, unlike my dad, who was once a good-for-nothing. But as they say, we learn and improve, and he did. Now, we own a restaurant, a small house, and a few other small businesses.Still, this is where I want to be.I could've chosen any other job he had or none if I wanted to, but I chose this one to prepare for Sigil College-the best school for well...everything... Culinary Arts, Corporate Espionage & Strategy, Luxury Real Estate & Urban Development... and that's just scratching the surface.It's a place where people from all walks of life-the rich, the poor, and the middle class-yearn to attend. And part of me wants to take the P.I.S.T course (Private Investigation & Surveillance Techniques course).Maybe, with those skills, I can finally find my mother.My time in the kitchen breezes pass as if it has never arrived and soon it's time for me to go back to the register where a person with a black cap stands in front of the register awaiting me.Smiling, I opened my mouth to ask for their order but they beat me to it."Ten," they say firmly, their frame cloaked in a black hoodie, blond tendrils of hair escaping from under the cap at the back. Their eyes are barely visible, but the specks of bright blue always make me certain.It's blue. A breath taking shade of blue"Oh...Ok." I type in their order and they immediately hands me something, it didn't feel like money but I had trust in my customers so I didn't break the little bit of eye contact we had."Keep the change, Bella," They murmur, their voice smooth like silk, yet edged with a rough, raspy undertone that sends a shiver down my spine and an eclectic feeling rippling through my chest.Woman maybe? Or man? And who's Bella and why does it sound so familiar?Snapping out of my questions, breaking away from their stare, I look down at my hands and only see a piece of paper, but as I look back up to make sure it isn't a mistake they're already gone the only sound filling my ears is the ring of the door, before it closes.