MELODY
....

The drive home from the hospital is uncomfortably quiet, except for the occasional swish of windshield wipers against the glass. It's raining-of course it's raining.

Like my life hasn't become enough of a cliché already. I'm sitting in the back seat because Mom insisted on propping my leg up across the seats like I'm some fragile, antique vase.

Meanwhile, Marco is up front, driving like he's trying out for NASCAR.

I stare out the window at the blurry streetlights, trying to swallow the knot in my throat. Hilton might be small, but it's home. I know every curve of the roads, every weirdly store name (like "Donut Worry Bakery"), and every crooked stop sign that's been there since I was ten.

And now, according to my family, I'm supposed to just leave all this behind because my knee decided to betray me?

Mom clears her throat for the millionth time, glancing at Marco. It's her classic we need to talk, but not in front of the kids look, except I'm not a kid anymore, and I know what's coming.

We pull into the driveway. Mom helps me inside, her hands hovering like I'm going to shatter if I take one wrong step. My crutches clatter against the floor as I hobble to the couch and collapse into the cushions.

"Just sit here," Mom says, tucking a blanket around me. "I'll heat up some a meal."

Because nothing says "your dreams are over" like microwaved meatloaf.

I'm scrolling through TikTok mindlessly-because what else can I do?-when the sound of a car door slamming outside makes me look up.

Marco doesn't get visitors this late, and it's definitely not one of my friends; they've all sent me their "get well soon" texts and ghosted.

The door swings open, and in walks Jeremiah, my other elder brother, dripping rain and radiating city energy like he's too cool for this small-town scene.

"Mel," he says, dropping his duffel bag near the door and ruffling his damp hair. "How's the knee?"

"Fantastic," I deadpan, gesturing at my leg. "Thinking of making it a career."

Jeremiah ignores my sarcasm like he always does and kicks off his sneakers. He's wearing one of those tailored coats that screams "corporate money," and his presence fills the room with "head of the house energy".

He hasn't been home in months, but now he's here, acting like some knight in shining armor.

Mom shuffles into the room, carrying two plates of reheated meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She gives Jeremiah one of those strained smiles, a silent: thank you for coming, and he nods like he's doing us all a favor.

Jeremiah doesn't like it here. Since dad's passing, he refuses to stay over a week in Hilton. Like, it's been ten years, get over it already because we all lost him!

Dinner is a muted affair. Mom sets plates down like she's on autopilot-I don't touch anything. Jeremiah sits at the head of the table, Marco across from him, and me at the end, my crutches propped up against the wall, mocking me.

"So," Jeremiah starts, cutting into his meatloaf like a surgeon. "We've been talking."

Of course they have.

My grip on my fork tightens because I know what he is about to say. What they all want to say.

"About what's best for you," Mom adds, her tone is careful, like she's handling a bomb that might go off at any second.

Here it comes.

"We think you should come to the city with me," Jeremiah says, leaning back in his chair and eying me like it's the most obvious solution. "Better doctors, better facilities. Insurance covers it. It's a no-brainer."

A no-brainer?

My jaw tightens as I shove a piece of my food into my mouth just to avoid saying something I'll regret.

"And what if I don't want to go?" I mutter when I swallow.

Jeremiah looks at me like I've just said I'd rather amputate my leg.

"Mel, be reasonable. You need the best care, and Hilton doesn't have that. You'll recover faster there. Plus, we can set up homeschooling so you don't fall behind."

Homeschooling. Wow! My life couldn't get any worse.

"What...?" I snap, dropping my fork with a loud clatter. "What about my friends? My life? You guys are just deciding this for me like I'm a-"

"A child?" Jeremiah interrupts, his calm tone only makes me angrier. "You're not being realistic. This isn't just about what you want. It's about what you need. And yes, you're still a child."

Bile rides up my throat.

"What I need," I say with a shaking voice, "is for someone to ask me what I want for once. But clearly, that's too much to ask."

Mom tries to jump in. "Mel, honey, we're just trying to-"

I shake my head and she stops.

Marco clears his throat, I know he wants to butt in and help but like me, he has no control over this.

"I'm not hungry," I mutter, shoving my plate away.

I want to dramatically storm out and head upstairs to my room, but my legs laughs at the thought.

I grab my crutches and awkwardly hop back to the couch.

From the kitchen, I can hear Jeremiah shifting the conversation back to himself, talking about how his job is going and his latest promotion, like my entire future isn't crashing and burning right here, right now.

I jab at my phone screen, scrolling through my notifications without really seeing them.

My chest is tight, my thoughts are spinning in a million directions.

Surgery, homeschooling, leaving Hilton. The golden girl turned invisible overnight.

A text from Jess pops up: You okay?

I stare at it for a long time before typing back.

No.

Jess responds almost instantly: Want to talk?

Not really.

I reply, tossing my phone onto the coffee table.

I hear footsteps approaching, and suddenly Jeremiah is looming over me with that same patronizing expression he's perfected over the years.

"Look, Mel," he says, lowering his voice. "I know this is hard, but you're being stubborn. This is for your own good."

"Thanks for your concern," I snap, glaring at him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to wallow in peace."

Jeremiah sighs, running a hand through his brown hair. "You'll thank us later."

I shake my head but I don't respond. Instead, I grab the remote and turn on the TV, ignoring him until he finally gives up and walks away.

Marco pats my shoulder on the way to his room and I know he means we'll but it just pisses me off.

"I don't need your pity, you jerk!" I scream after him.

Fuck, this is really happening, is it not?

Chapter two is up, I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Love, NOMMY 🔥