Mr. and Mrs. Newman forced me to take home an obscene amount of food, and my fingers are beginning to crack under the pressure of the grocery bags. I tried desperately to remind them of what they were already doing for me, but they refused my pleas and made sure we had enough to get us through the week.

Since Dom's raspy cough kept him up most of the night, I carefully open my apartment door incase he's asleep. Despite my attempts at being quiet, the rusty hinges creak in protest, and my head snaps to the couch to see if I woke him. When he doesn't peek up from under his puffy blue blanket, I tip-toe into our home and begin to put the groceries away.

Unpacking the contents of the last bag, I can't help but release a small chuckle. Mrs. Newman insisted I tell her all of Dom's symptoms and told me the best medicines to help him get better. Dom and I are now the proud owners of our very own miniature pharmacy, a first for us.

The mixture of emotions I have coursing through me has left me utterly bewildered. I think the most foreign feeling is hope. I can't remember the last time the grass truly felt greener on the other side, and despite my efforts to reject their proposition, this whole miracle has me eager to see what comes next.

Resting against the kitchen counter with my arms crossed in front of me, I let out a sigh of relief. The weight I have been lugging around on my shoulders the last few months seems to have disappeared.

Finally.

Deciding to make an old family recipe, I take out the fixings to make Dom chicken noodle soup.

I can't remember the last time I cut into fresh vegetables, I've usually stocked up on canned goods and frozen veggies when they were on sale. The carrots are crisp and crunch every time my knife cuts into them. I even welcome the sting in my eyes when I dice the onions.

Taking out my biggest pot, I pour in the yellow chicken broth and mix in the fresh produce. When I turn on the stove, the aroma of the delicious mixture begins to fuse as one.

When I was sick as a child, Daniella would always make me soup, and once I got old enough, she taught me how to make it myself. She wasn't always a horrible mother, but when Dad passed, it was like a switch flipped, and she was no longer the woman I grew to know.

Not wanting to waste any more time thinking about her, I move onto the scrumptious smelling rotisserie chicken. Even covered, the aroma of its mixed herb coated skin wafts through the small kitchen. When I remove the lid, the smell only magnifies, and my mouth begins to water. I don't know the last time I had something this grand in my stomach.

Firmly grasping the wooden handle of my knife, I begin to dice the meat into small cubes. The sharp edge glides through it as if it was butter, releasing its clear juices.

My thoughts once again move to my mother, wondering where she is and what she is doing. Unfortunately, I can't help it sometimes. Although I know it is wrong, I hope she is suffering more than we are.

I should have known better than to let my guard down because the happiness and thrill of the adventures ahead are long gone, and it seems that something always tries to pull back down the dark hole I have come to know.

Despite my countless attempts to remove the negative thoughts, my mind runs wild until a wave of uncertainty crashes over me. All I can think of is The Newman's, the guilt of never being able to pay them back, and the anguish of never being able to thank Connor for his kindness consumes me.

Silent tears roll down my cheeks at the thought of someone so innocent having to die for this opportunity to happen for Dom and I. He has become my savior, and I haven't even had the privilege to meet him.

The upsetting thoughts continue to pop up as I stir in the cubed chicken in the already bubbling pot. Lowing the heat so the soup can simmer, I decide to talk to the only person who has the magical ability to calm me down before my conscience has another excuse to play with my emotions— Mrs. Markus.

Before I even reach her apartment, the door swings open.

Startled, my hand comes up to my chest as if it has the power to calm my racing heart. "Mrs. Markus, You startled me!"

"I just had a feeling you were coming around, Dear." Her light blue eyes sparkle with mischief as she waves me into her living room. "Looks like my intuition was right."

"As always." I smile and take a seat on her leather sofa.

Even after all these hours, her home smells like freshly baked goods, and the sweet scent helps to settle the uneasy feeling I have clawing at my stomach.

Deep in my thoughts, Mrs. Markus startles me once again as she settles beside me.

Placing her hand on my knee, I look up and notice her lowered brows, worry etched in her face. "What's wrong, Sweet Girl?" I begin to massage my cheeks as if rubbing them will help erase my problems. "I got some news today."

"Good or bad news?"

My head shakes from side to side as I try to organize the thoughts storming through my mind. "I don't even know."

"Child, you're speaking in riddles," she chuckles. "You're going to have to be a little more clear. I'm too old for my mind to work this hard."

The words begin to flow out as I rip off the metaphorical band-aid. "Dom and I have to move."

Mrs. Markus' head cocks back, clearly not ready for the bomb I just dropped.

"It's a long story, but the biggest thing is that within the next few weeks, Dom and I will be moving out of the city and starting a new life somewhere else."

"I don't understand." Her salt and pepper hair sways from side to side as she shakes her head. "When I saw you before, I didn't even know this was an option."

"It wasn't."

"Start from the beginning," She says softly.

I begin to recall the events of today from the minute I stepped out of her door. Reliving the moment I first put a piece of food in my clothes to hide, tears start to form as my weakest moments flow from my mouth into her ears. My heart clenches as I tell her how I felt as if my back was against a wall when I had to choose between food or medicine for Dom, causing me to become so desperate that I was willing to go against everything I believe in and steal.

Mrs. Markus stays silent as I relived my day, never delivering a judging comment about my horrible and despicable behavior. When telling her about Connor, immense sadness takes over, and I can't help the tears that begin to fall.

I can't help but release a deep-chested sob as the moisture continues to fall down my face. "I feel so... Hell, I don't even know what I'm feeling."

Mrs. Markus' soft fingers move my misplaced hair away from my face, and my head falls on her slender shoulder while I search for comfort from nurturing touch.

"Gemma, Honey," She coos. "I think you have an angel looking out for you. This gift came in your most desperate time of need."

My cries become soft whimpers as I listen to what she is trying to tell me. "I just feel like I don't deserve this. Someone had to die for this to happen. Someone so extraordinary that even when he knew he wouldn't make it, he wanted to put others first. I don't deserve that."

"Gemma Moreno, you are the most selfless person I know," she says in her warm grandmotherly tone as she runs her fingers through my hair. The simple action calms me down and helps to alleviate some of the tightness in my chest. "You gave up your dream of college when your mother left, and you have been working yourself into the ground trying to make sure Dom is well taken care of. I know you don't see all that you have accomplished, but I do. I am so proud of you."

My heart swells at the word "Proud." but with how quickly the joy came, it's is gone when a new thought pops into my mind that causes a new wave of emotions.

"When we move, you won't be there!" I shake my head forcefully as if I am trying to remove the horrible thought. "Please come with us."

"Honey, It's okay," She assures me by kissing the top of my head. "I will be okay."

Her words stab my heart, and I lose my ability to breathe. I didn't expect her to accept my offer, but it physically pains me thinking about leaving the only person Dom and I consider family.

"I won't," I whisper.

The sound of her apartment door slamming shut causes us both to drop our embrace. Our eyes dart to the cause of the loud noise, and we see Dom standing with his brown hair sticking up in every direction.

With his eyes wide and his brows furrowed in confusion, he asks, "We're moving?"