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 began to subside, I couldn't help but marvel at the peculiar turn of events that led me to seek solace in a pint of double chocolate brownie ice cream. It was an unusual choice, I admit, but one that seemed oddly fitting at the time.

Jon stood by my side as we found ourselves at my mother's bakery. The sweet aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped us, offering a sense of comfort amidst the chaos of the day.

My mother's concern was palpable as she gazed at me with furrowed brows, her maternal instincts kicking into overdrive. "What can I do to make you feel better?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.

Without hesitation, I requested a generous serving of her renowned double chocolate brownie ice cream. It was a treat like no other—rich, decadent, and utterly indulgent. A remedy for both the body and the soul.

As Jon opted for his favourite peanut butter brownie chunk ice cream, I resisted the urge to steal a bite. We had made a pact not to share food this time around; my swollen lip served as a stark reminder of our unspoken agreement.

With each spoonful of creamy goodness melting on my tongue, the pain slowly ebbed away, replaced by a sense of contentment and relief. The world seemed somehow brighter and more bearable in the presence of such simple pleasures.

And so we sat there in silence, savouring every last drop of ice cream as if it were our last meal on earth. The taste lingered on our lips long after we had finished our treats, a bittersweet reminder of moments shared and memories made.

"Do you want to talk about your parents now?" I finally asked him, breaking the silence that hung between us like a thick fog. 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. "Which is normal? They're always fighting," Jon continued. "But this time I heard some of what they said."

It wasn't uncommon for Jon to seek refuge at my house whenever his parents' arguments reached unbearable levels.

My mom would make us freshly baked cookies: oatmeal peanut butter chocolate chunk and white chocolate macadamia. Our favourites.

Then she would set us in front of the TV and increase the volume to drown out the shouting.

Eventually, this became normal.

"What did you hear?" I prompted gently. Jon took a deep breath before speaking again. "What little I could make out... I could swear, it sounded like they were arguing about moving."

"Moving?" My voice rose in surprise. "But you can't leave... here."

What I really wanted to say was that he couldn't leave me.

Jon reached out and grasped my hand firmly. "I would never leave you," he reassured me, his gaze unwavering. "You know that, right?" I felt a lump form in my throat as his words sank in.

We had always been each other's constant in a world filled with uncertainties.

As we discussed the possibility of his parents leaving Willow Creek, our hometown and safe haven, for as long as we could remember, Jon revealed more details of their heated conversation.

"My mom said she wanted to go back," Jon explained, furrowing his brow in confusion. "Go back where, I'm not sure. And then my dad mentioned something about 'him.'"

The mention of an unknown figure named 'him' added another layer of mystery to an already puzzling situation.

"Did your parents ever live anywhere else before you were born?" I questioned her, hoping for a clue that would unravel this mystery.

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

We sat in silence for a moment as we pondered the implications of his parents' cryptic conversation. The idea of them leaving Willow Creek seemed unfathomable—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 that had settled between us.

I nodded thoughtfully. "It's worth a shot." I stood up. "I'll be right back," I told him, tousling his dark brown locks, before heading into the kitchen where my mom should be.

Luckily enough, she was. She was putting some cupcakes in the oven. "Hey mom," I said after she'd closed the oven. I didn't want to scare her into burning herself.

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

"Yeah, a long time ago. No. I came in here because Jon and I have something to ask you."

She dusted some flour from her apron before looking up at me. "Sure honey. I'll be right there." I walked out, hearing my mom ask Katerina, a girl from our school who worked here, to keep an eye on the cupcakes for her.

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

Jon fidgeted nervously beside me before finally finding his voice. "Did my parents ever live anywhere other than Willow Creek?"

My mother's immediate response was sharp and definitive: "No!" But then she quickly corrected herself with a softer tone. "I mean... no."

Something wasn't right. The tension in the room was palpable as my mother tried to brush off Jon's question.

"Why do you ask?" she probed further.

Jon explained how he overheard his parents arguing about going back somewhere that seemed linked to another man—a revelation that clearly struck a nerve with my mother based on her reaction.

"What's wrong, mom?" I pressed when she tensed up noticeably.

She deflected with an excuse about needing to return to work due to an increase in customers, but left us both unsettled by her abrupt departure back into the bustling kitchen.

My mother's hasty retreat only added fuel to the fire as I watched her escape back into the safety of her kitchen domain. Her evasive behaviour only fueled our determination to uncover the truth lurking beneath the surface.

The whispers of hidden truths swirled around us like ghosts haunting our every move, driving us closer towards a revelation that would change everything we thought we knew about ourselves and those closest to us.

"I'm sorry she couldn't give you much," I said sympathetically. "It's okay," Jon replied with a sigh. "But now I can't stop thinking about what they could've been fighting about."

As we sat there pondering this mystery, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. "What if we could find some answers in your parents' old high school yearbook?" I suggested eagerly.

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

I remembered the incident when Jon's father scolded him for entering his study and realized that getting access to those yearbooks would be no easy task.

Just as I headed past the large staircase in the front foyer, I heard yelling down the hall to my left.

At first, I thought Jon's parents were going at it again, until I remembered Jon's mom had run to the grocery store.

I hurried down the hall to find Jon and his dad in the hall outside his study. Jon's father was yelling. "What have I told you about being in my study?! My study is off limits! Now go play somewhere else!" He shouted and pointed down the hall in the direction I stood.

Seeing Jon trying to hold back tears, I moved as fast as my tiny legs would allow me, rushing to his side. I grabbed his hand. "Come on, Jonny. Let's go play at my house."

Then we headed over to my house for the rest of the day.

Once my mom heard what happened, she'd told Jon he was always welcome to play at our house.

We never hung out at his house again, which, at first, made me feel bad. I already knew he was ashamed of his parents arguing. Thankfully, he assured me he'd rather hang out at my house. He liked it better anyway.

It has only been three years since my father's tragic accident on his motorcycle took him away from us too soon. Death had a way of reminding us of its inevitability and unpredictability.

I remember the phone call that shattered our lives into a million irreparable pieces. The voice on the other end was telling us about the accident and about how he was fighting for his life in the hospital. How we needed to hurry if we wanted to say our goodbyes.

My mother's anguished cries as she clutched onto me for support, her tears soaking into my shirt as we rushed to his side. But even as we stood there, watching him slip away from us, I couldn't bring myself to accept it. 

How could someone so full of life be taken from us just like that? Death is a cruel master, claiming its victims without warning or mercy. And in that moment, it felt like it had taken everything from me.

Time passed in a blur after that day, each moment blending into the next as I tried to make sense of a world without him in it. They say time heals all wounds, but what they don't tell you is that some wounds never truly heal. They linger beneath the surface, festering and raw.

As 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. It is a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude."

Life, death, and change. The few constants in our world.

Life: A beautiful lie.

Death: A painful truth.

Change: The inevitable, a chance for growth and renewal.

How terrible it is to love something death can touch.

Life is fragile and fleeting, like a delicate flower that blooms only to wither away. Death is inevitable and cruel, tearing loved ones apart without mercy.

But through it all, one thing remains unchanged: our capacity to love fiercely and unconditionally. In the face of darkness and despair, love shines like a beacon of hope, guiding us through the darkest nights and the coldest winters.

Life may be a beautiful lie and death a painful truth, but within their intricate dance lies the essence of our humanity—fragile yet resilient, fleeting yet eternal.

The image of my family smiling in that picture on the wall taunted me with memories of happier times, now forever tainted by loss. My father's absence loomed large, a constant reminder of how fragile life truly was.

"I don't want to lose you. Not like I lost him," I whispered hoarsely, the weight of those words heavy on my tongue.

"You won't. I promise," Jon replied softly, his voice filled with conviction and determination.

But, promises were fragile things, easily broken by fate's cruel hand. And, as much as I wanted to believe Jon's words, the fear of losing him too gnawed at my soul like a relentless beast.

"I wouldn't be able to handle it if I did," I confessed honestly, laying bare the depth of my vulnerability before him.

Silence enveloped us like a shroud as we stood there together, our hearts beating in sync with unspoken emotions swirling between us.

Jon's hand continued its soothing motion on my shoulder, grounding me in reality amidst the chaos within.

In that moment, surrounded by memories and love intertwined with loss and fear, I clung to Jon like a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea.

And, as he held me close, promising never to leave me alone in the darkness that threatened to consume me whole, I dared to hope for a future where love could conquer even death itself.

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 told him with a grin. "Let's go see if Damon wants to join us."

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

I nudged him playfully, nearly causing him to topple over into the display case of freshly baked goods.

We both laughed at our antics before making our way around the counter towards Damon.

"Hey Damon," I said as he approached, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Oh, hey," he responded, seeming slightly startled by our sudden appearance.

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

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

"That reminds me," I began. "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 nervously. "Um, my dad isn't much of a people person."

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

A shadow passed over Damon's face as he replied quietly, "My mom passed away when I was born."

"I'm so sorry," I said softly, reaching out to rub his shoulder in comfort.

"It's okay," Damon reassured me with a sad smile. "I never knew her anyway."

Before I could respond further, the sound of Elisa's voice interrupted us as she asked for the next customer in line.

"Um, yeah," Damon said, stepping up to the counter. He briefly looked over the vast array of treats made by my mom. "Can I have a lemon poppy seed muffin, a double chocolate chunk muffin, and... What flavour cake would you suggest?" He turned around, looking at me.

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

"Mmm. Both sound delicious." He turned back around. "I'll take one slice of each." Elisa nodded, gathering the requested items as Damon once again faced us. "Thanks," he said, looking into my eyes.

I couldn't help but feel my recommendations weren't what he was thanking me for.

I simply nodded as he gathered the treats, sliding a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. "Keep the change." He turned, heading for the door. "I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." I waved, feeling Jon behind me, watching Damon exit.

Jon and I watched him leave before returning to our seats by the window. However, Jon seemed fixated on something outside that caught his attention.

"What is it?" I asked curiously as Jon stood up abruptly and walked closer to the window. He motioned for me to join him as we peered outside, where Damon was engaged in a heated conversation with Kirsty, someone whom neither of us had seen him interact with before.

As their exchange escalated in intensity, Kirsty grabbed Damon's arm forcefully while yelling at him furiously.

We couldn't hear their words, but we could feel the tension radiating from them both. Jon urged me not to intervene as Damon eventually walked away from Kirsty and got into a car that sped off swiftly from the parking lot.

Kirsty's gaze met mine briefly before she drove away herself in anger and frustration.

"What was that all about?" Jon questioned.

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

And I would.