When an old wound gets reopened, it's tempting to think nothing has changed. But the way you deal with it gives you an opportunity to appreciate how much you've grown. - Unknown

As the throbbing pain in my lip started to fade, I couldn't help but chuckle at how I ended up here, spoon-deep in a pint of double chocolate brownie ice cream.

Not your typical remedy, but honestly, who was I to refuse a dessert that also acted as a delicious form of comfort?

Jon stood beside me, his face a mix of concern and amusement, as we wandered into my mother's bakery. The warm scent of freshly baked goods wrapped around us like one of the many cinnamon scented candles my mom owned.

My mom's brows knit together as she caught sight of my swollen lip. "What can I do to make you feel better?" she asked, her voice tinged with that classic mom tone—part love, part panic.

Without skipping a beat, I requested a hefty scoop of her double chocolate brownie ice cream. It was no ordinary treat; it was rich, decadent, and basically a hug in a bowl.

Jon, ever the peanut butter enthusiast, grabbed his favorite peanut butter brownie chunk ice cream. I shot him a playful glare. Our pact was clear: no sharing food this time.

With each spoonful, the creamy sweetness melted on my tongue, sending waves of relief through me. The pain? It dissolved like sugar in hot tea. The world outside felt brighter, as if someone had flipped a switch.

Life may throw punches, but ice cream made it all a bit sweeter.

We sat in comfortable silence, savouring every last drop of ice cream as if it were a treasure. The taste lingered on our lips long after the bowls were empty.

"Do you want to talk about your parents now?" I finally asked him, breaking the silence that hung between us.

He nodded slowly, his eyes clouded with a mix of sadness and confusion.

"Remember how I said when I went to get some clothes, I overheard yelling coming from their room?" I nodded, urging him to continue. "I remembered more of what they said."

It wasn't unusual for Jon to take refuge at my house whenever his parents' arguments reached unbearable levels. My mom would whip up freshly baked cookies—oatmeal peanut butter chocolate chunk and white chocolate macadamia. Our favorites. The aroma would waft through the air, warm and inviting, like a hug. Then she'd plop us in front of the TV, cranking up the volume to drown out the shouting. Eventually, this became our routine.

"What did you hear?" I prompted gently.

As we discussed the idea of his parents leaving Willow Creek, our hometown, Jon revealed more details of their heated conversation. "My mom said she wanted to go back," he explained, furrowing his brow. "Go back where? I'm not sure. And then my dad mentioned something about 'him.'"

The mention of an unknown figure—'him'—added another layer of mystery. I leaned in. "Did your parents ever live anywhere else before you were born?"

Jon shook his head. "Like your parents, mine never left after high school."

We sat in silence, contemplating the implications of his parents' cryptic conversation. The idea of them leaving Willow Creek felt like a bad joke—this town was all we had ever known.

"Do you think we could ask your mom? Maybe she might know something," Jon suggested, breaking the silence.

I nodded thoughtfully. "It's worth a shot." I stood up. "I'll be right back," I told him, tousling his long dark brown locks.

I headed into the kitchen, where the warm, sweet scent of vanilla wafted through the air. My mom was busy sliding cupcakes into the oven. "Hey, Mom," I said after she closed the door, careful not to startle her.

"Hey, sweetheart. What's up? You guys finished your ice cream already?"

"Yeah, a while ago. Jon and I have something to ask you." She brushed flour off her apron, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.

"Sure, honey. I'll be right there." I walked back, hearing her ask Katerina—one of our classmates who worked at the bakery—to keep an eye on the cupcakes.

Not long after I sat, my mom plopped down beside me at the table. "What do you kids need?"

Jon fidgeted, his fingers drumming nervously against the table. "Did my parents ever live anywhere other than Willow Creek?"

My mother's response was sharp and immediate. "No!" Then she quickly softened, backpedaling. "I mean... no. Why do you ask?"

Jon explained how he overheard his parents arguing about going back to a place tied to another man. The way my mother stiffened told us this was a touchy subject.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I pressed, sensing her unease.

She deflected, claiming she needed to return to work because of customers piling in. But her hasty retreat into the kitchen felt like an escape.

The kitchen was her safe zone, but it felt like a fortress now.

We were on the edge of something big. The truth remained just out of reach, waiting to change everything we thought we knew. The question was, were we ready for it?

"I'm sorry she couldn't give you much," I said.

"It's okay," Jon replied with a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "But now I can't stop thinking about what they could've been fighting about."

As we sat there, our minds racing, an idea hit me like a splash of cold water. "What if we could find some answers in your parents' old high school yearbook?" I suggested, my excitement bubbling over.

Jon's eyes widened. "But where would we even find them? My dad's study is off-limits to me."

I recalled the moment when Jon's father had scolded him for entering that forbidden space. It would be a challenge to access those yearbooks.

We had been playing hide and seek. It was Jon's turn to hide.

Just then, a loud voice echoed down the hall. At first, I thought Jon's parents were at it again, but then I remembered that Jon's mom had gone to the grocery store.

I rushed down the hall, curiosity pulling me forward. What I found was Jon and his dad standing outside his study. Jon's father was yelling, "What have I told you about being in my study?! It's off-limits! Now go play somewhere else!" He pointed down the hall, right in my direction.

Seeing Jon's eyes fill with unshed tears tugged at my heart. I hurried to his side and grabbed his hand. "Come on, Jonny. Let's go play at my house."

We bolted down the hall, eager to escape the tension.

Once we were safe at my house, my mom welcomed Jon with open arms. "You're always welcome here," she said, smiling.

We never hung out at his house again. At first, I felt guilty. I knew he was embarrassed by his parents' arguments. But Jon quickly reassured me. "I'd rather be at your place. Your snacks are way better, and your parents don't yell."

And just like that, we settled into our new routine. My house became our safe haven, filled with laughter and adventure. Even when life felt heavy, we found joy in the small things.

Sometimes, the best escape was simply being with a friend.

It has only been three years since my father's tragic motorcycle accident. His absence still felt fresh, a wound that refused to heal.

Death has a way of knocking on the door when you least expect it.

I still remembered the phone call—the one that shattered our lives.

A voice on the other end spoke of the accident. My heart raced as they said he was fighting for his life.

"Hurry," they urged. We needed to say our goodbyes.

I can still feel my mother's anguish as she clutched me for support, her tears soaking my shirt.

We rushed to his side, but even as we stood there, I couldn't accept it. How could someone so full of life be taken from us so suddenly?

In those moments, I was lost.

Death is a cruel master, claiming its victims without warning. I felt like it had stripped away everything I held dear.

Time blurred after that day. Each moment bled into the next as I struggled to navigate a world without him.

They said time heals all wounds, but that was a lie. Some wounds stayed raw, buried beneath the surface. They festered and ached.

H.P. Lovecraft once said, "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

Life, death, and change are the few constants we face.

Life feels like a beautiful lie.

Death? A painful truth.

Change? Inevitable. It offered a chance for growth, but it also reminded us how fragile life is.

To love something that death can touch is a heavy burden. Life is like a delicate flower—beautiful but fleeting.

Death tears loved ones apart, often without mercy. Yet, amid this chaos, our capacity to love remains.

Love is a force that shines through darkness. It guides us through our hardest moments.

Life may be a beautiful lie, and death a painful truth, but in between, we find our humanity.

Through my father, I learned the depth of love. He was more than a man; he was a storyteller, a dreamer, a father, a son, a friend. His laughter filled our home. His absence had reshaped my understanding of love. I'd grown to cherish memories, holding them close.

I found myself reflecting on who he was. His passion for life inspired me to embrace my own. In his absence, I'd learned to love fiercely. I carried him with me, a guiding force in my heart.

And so, I navigated this fragile world. I remembered him not in sorrow, but in gratitude. I honoured his life by living mine fully, knowing that love, even in its most painful form, was a gift.

I stood up and walked towards the front counter. Behind it hung a picture of our family. Back when we were still whole.

Mom, Dad, and me. I was in the middle, their arms around my shoulders. The photo captured just how perfect a blend of my parent's features I had inherited.

My father's fiery red hair and my mother's dark brown blended into my signature dark auburn locks. My mother's complexion and hazel eyes, along with my father's freckles.

The picture on the wall captured my family in a moment of pure joy. Their smiles seemed to mock me now, reminders of happier days forever stained by loss. My father's absence felt like a heavy weight in the room. I understood, more than ever, how fragile life could be.

"I don't want to lose you. Not like I lost him," I whispered, my voice cracking. Those words felt like stones in my throat.

"You won't. I promise," Jon replied.

I wanted to believe him. Yet promises can break easily. They were fragile, like glass.

"I wouldn't be able to handle it if I did." I admitted.

It felt raw, like peeling back my skin. I hated this feeling. I was used to bottling everything up, letting it fester until it burst. I knew it wasn't healthy, but it was my way. Jon was one of the few who got to see this side of me.

The silence wrapped around us, thick and suffocating, our hearts beating in sync.

Jon's hand was on my shoulder, warm and grounding. But even his touch couldn't completely calm the chaos stirring inside me. I was drowning in memories of my father and the fear of the future.

I needed to know how fragile life really was. It was too easy for fate to take someone away. It was too easy for love to slip through my fingers.

"I can't lose you," I murmured, more to myself than to him.

"I'm right here," Jon said, his voice firm. But even as he spoke, I could sense his own fears swirling beneath the surface.

The truth was, we were both scared. Scared of the past. Scared of the future.

At that moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to hope for a future where love could push back against grief. Because, in the end, isn't that what we all crave? To hold on to those we love, even when the world feels like it's slipping away?

Could love really conquer death? I wanted to believe it. But reality was harsh. Life was unpredictable.

We were just teens, trying to navigate this messy reality. The stakes felt impossibly high. No one should have to deal with this kind of loss at our age.

As he held me close, I dared to hope. A future where love could fight against even death.

But deep down, I knew hope was a risky thing. It made you vulnerable. It opened the door to hurt. And yet, here I was, daring to feel it.

And, in that hope, there was a truth. Love didn't erase loss. It didn't fill the void. But maybe, just maybe, it could help us move forward.

The sound of the bell attached to the front door, signalling the entrance of a patron, broke us from our reverie. Damon.

Wiping my face with a napkin, I turned to Jon. "Okay. Enough pity," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "Let's go see if Damon wants to join us."

"Yay," Jon mumbled sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

I nudged him playfully, almost sending him toppling into the display case of freshly baked goods. We both laughed as we made our way around the counter toward Damon.

"Hey, Damon," I greeted him as he approached, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"Oh, hey," he replied, looking a bit startled by our sudden appearance.

"Sorry for interrupting your treat run," I chuckled. "Did we startle you?"

Damon shook his head, a small smile breaking through. "No, not at all. Just here to pick up some treats for my dad and me."

"That reminds me," I said, my curiosity piqued. "When will we get to meet your dad? You've been coming here for a week now, and we've never seen him."

Damon scratched the back of his neck. "Um, my dad isn't much of a people person."

"Oh, what about your mom?" I asked gently.

A frown appeared on his face. "My mom passed away when I was born."

"I'm so sorry," I said softly.

"It's okay," he reassured me, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I never knew her anyway."

Before I could say more, Elisa's voice rang out, calling for the next customer.

"Um, yeah," Damon said, stepping up to the counter. He glanced over the array of treats my mom had prepared. "Can I have a lemon poppy seed muffin, a double chocolate chunk muffin, and... What flavor cake would you suggest?" He turned to me.

"I love all of them. But my two favorites are the fudgy chocolate peanut butter and the carrot cake."

"Mmm. Both sound delicious." He faced the counter again. "I'll take one slice of each."

Elisa nodded as she gathered his order. Damon turned back to us, a warm look in his eyes.

"Thanks," he said, and I felt a flutter in my stomach. It felt like he was thanking me for more than just the recommendations.

He slid a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. "Keep the change." With that, he turned and headed for the door. "I'll see you guys at school tomorrow."

I waved as he left, feeling Jon's gaze on my back. We both watched him go, then returned to our seats by the window. But Jon seemed fixated on something outside.

"What is it?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me as Jon scooted over, moving closer to the window.

He motioned for me to join him.

Outside, Damon was in a heated conversation with Kirsty, someone we'd never seen him interact with before.

We couldn't hear the words, but their body language spoke volumes. Jon urged me not to intervene.

Eventually, Damon pulled away and got into a car that sped off. Kirsty spun around, locking eyes with me, and shot me a look that was equal parts fury and frustration before she drove away herself.

"What was that all about?" Jon asked, his brows furrowed.

"I don't know," I replied firmly. "But I intend to find out."

And I would.