Forgive anyone who has caused you pain. Keep in mind that forgiving is not for others. It is for you. Forgiving is not forgetting. It is remembering without anger. It frees up your power, heals your mind, body, and spirit. Forgiveness opens up a pathway to a new place of peace where you can persist despite what has happened to you. - Les Brown

Since witnessing the argument between Kirsty and Damon, I couldn't get it out of my head. It didn't make any sense to me. What would a girl like Kirsty want with a guy like Damon?

They seemed like complete opposites—he was sweet and kind, while she exuded an air of arrogance and entitlement.

For now, I chose to let it go.

As I stood in front of my vanity, unravelling the French braids my mom had lovingly put in my hair the night before, I admired how the curls cascaded down without a hint of frizz thanks to my trusty hair bonnet.

The sound of my phone pinged, drawing my attention away from my reflection. Walking over to my bedside table, I saw a message from Jon that read, 'Be there in 5.' I quickly replied that I was upstairs getting ready and went back to preparing myself for the day.

I rummaged through my walk-in closet, finally settling on a pair of black overalls with a half-skeleton design and a matching black short-sleeve top.

As I slipped into the outfit and checked myself out in the gothic-style floor-length mirror, Jon appeared at the doorway with his trademark cheeky smile.

"You look great."

"Ugh, Jon." I said, playfully rolling my eyes, hand on my heart. "Don't do that."

"Not fun, is it?" He asked, clearly referring to all the times I'd scared him during our marathons.

Many of which took place in the dark.

"Ha ha!" I laughed sarcastically. "I get it. I won't try to scare you anymore. Deal?"

He crossed the room, accepting my outstretched hand.

"Deal." He turned me back to the mirror, his hands on my shoulders. "It's us against the world, remember?"

I nodded before he kissed my cheek, stepping back and heading back to my room.

"I meant it. You really look good," he repeated as he paused in the doorway.

I smiled again. "Thanks."

He nodded before heading back into my room.

Spritzing some vanilla brown sugar perfume on myself, I joined him only to find him engrossed in watching TV news about upcoming weather conditions.

"You smell like waffles," he teased.

I playfully shoved him with a mischievous grin on my face. "You're such a goofball."

His surprised expression turned into amusement as he almost lost his balance on the edge of my bed. "Ahh!" he exclaimed, steadying himself just in time.

Giggling, I apologized before challenging him to a race downstairs, where my mom had prepared her famous homemade cinnamon waffles.

With a burst of energy, I darted out of the room, leaving Jon behind.

I could hear Jon's laughter echoing behind me as he chased after me, his footsteps thundering on the stairs. Just as I reached the kitchen door, his strong arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me off my feet in playful defiance.

"I win!" He exclaimed.

"Only because you cheated."

"Work smart, not hard," was his reply, causing me to roll my eyes, eventually giving in to the grin I tried to hide.

The aroma of cinnamon greeted us as we entered the kitchen, where my mom had laid out a delicious meal for us.

Waffles, eggs, toast, fresh fruit, orange, and apple juice.

I drizzled my waffles in maple syrup before tucking in. "These are so good," I moaned, savouring every bit of the fluffy cinnamon waffles. I noticed Jon tense beside me, causing me to turn to him. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Nothing," he responded, not taking his eyes off his plate. "It's nothing." I shrugged, returning to my remaining two waffles.

"Well, eat up. We have to head out soon."

The rest of breakfast was spent in silence, the only noise coming from the TV in the living room.

"Alright kids," my mom returned. "I'm off to the bakery. Make sure to lock up when you leave. Don't be late."

She walked around the island, planting a kiss on both of our foreheads.

"We will. Bye mom. Love you."

"Bye, Mrs. Masterson."

"How many times have I told you, Jonathan? Call me Avril."

"Sorry, Mrs... I mean Avril."

She chuckled, waving one last time before exiting.

I sat at the kitchen table, pushing around the remnants of my breakfast, as I heard the familiar rumble of my mom's 1970 Dodge Charger pulling out of the driveway.

It was a sound that always brought a bittersweet ache to my heart.

The car had been my dad's pride and joy before he died. He had received it as a present for his high school graduation, a symbol of freedom and independence.

I remembered how my dad used to take me for rides in that car, the wind whipping through our hair as we cruised down country roads.

He always said he couldn't wait to see me behind the wheel one day.

But now, all those dreams were shattered because of a drunk driver who decided to get behind the wheel after a night of drinking.

His untimely death left us with only memories and his beloved Charger. It was the last piece we had of him, a tangible reminder of the man he was.

My dad's motorcycle, another prized possession, had been totaled in the accident that took his life.

Now, he lay buried in the local cemetery beside his parents, forever separated from us by cruel circumstances.

Whenever I needed to feel close to him, I would sit among the gravestones and talk to him as if he could hear me. It was my way of keeping his memory alive and of feeling connected to him in some small way.

But there was one person who threatened to tarnish those memories: the drunk driver who had taken my father away from us. She had shown up at his funeral; her presence was a painful reminder of our loss.

I watched as she approached us tentatively, seeking forgiveness for her unforgivable actions. My mother's anger flared like a wildfire, her words laced with venom as she confronted the woman who had shattered our lives.

My mother had always been quite the fiery-tempered woman. My dad often joked that she should've been the one with red hair to match her temper. My dad was always the calmer, easier-going one of my parents. My mom was chaos, while my dad was like a slow mountain stream, going with the flow. They balanced each other out.

Knowing of my mother's temper, I held onto her arm as the woman approached.

"What do you want?" My mom asked, her voice laced with venom.

"I... I just wanted to apologize. What I did was unforgivable."

"You're darn right, it is." I felt my mom's muscles clenching in her arm as her hand formed a fist. "My husband, my daughter's father, is gone, and he's never coming back. BECAUSE OF YOU! He will never be there to see her graduate high school, get married, or have children. None of it."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I remembered all the moments that would now be just memories—because of a stupid drunk driver.

I felt the woman look over to me. "I truly am sorry." My mother held me tighter as we watched the woman walk away.

I remember the way my dad's eyes would soften whenever he spoke about forgiveness. It was as if he held a secret power within him, a strength that could only be found in letting go of hate and embracing love instead.

He often compared holding onto hate to smoking, slowly eating away at you from the inside. And he would always say that forgiveness wasn't just for the person who wronged you but for yourself as well.

I never quite understood the depth of his words until he shared with me the story of his uncle's tragic death.

His uncle had been killed while trying to stop a robbery, leaving behind a grieving family torn apart by loss and anger.

My dad recounted how he watched his grandparents cycle through waves of sorrow and rage, unable to find peace in their hearts.

But it was during the trial that my dad witnessed something truly remarkable.

As his grandfather stood before the man responsible for his son's death, he spoke words of forgiveness. He acknowledged the pain and devastation caused by this young man's actions but chose to release him from the burden of hatred.

The judge allowed his grandfather to embrace the young man, offering a moment of solace amidst all the pain and suffering. And my dad swore that in that instant, he saw a weight lift off his grandfather's shoulders, freeing him from the shackles of bitterness.

It was then that my dad made a vow to live by the mantra, "Forgive but never forget."

He carried this lesson with him throughout his life, passing it down to me like an heirloom of wisdom.

So when faced with the woman responsible for taking my father away from me, I found myself grappling with conflicting emotions.

The pain she inflicted on our family was undeniable, leaving behind scars that would never fully heal. But remembering my father's teachings, I made the choice to forgive her.

Not because she deserved it or because it would erase what she had done, but because holding onto hate would only poison my own soul.

And so I let go of resentment and embraced compassion instead.

In doing so, I found a sense of peace within myself that I hadn't known was possible.

Forgiveness is not just an act of kindness towards others; it is also an act of self-care.

And through forgiving her, I honoured my father's legacy and carried on his message of love triumphing over hate.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my arm, gently shaking me.

"Hey," Jon said softly. "You okay?"

I mustered a smile and replied, "Yeah, just thinking about visiting my dad."

Jon's hand gently covered mine as he asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"

I leaned into his shoulder and nodded gratefully. "Whenever you're ready," he assured me.

Standing up, I gathered our plates, but Jon insisted on taking them to the sink.

Instead, as I made my way through the house in search of my backpack, a note caught my eye on the coffee table. It was from Mom, reminding me where I had left it—in the home library.

Rushing back into the entranceway, I sprinted down the hallway towards the room that held some of my most cherished memories—our home library. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books that had shaped who I was today.

Spotting my bag next to the reading nook that my dad had lovingly installed for me, I quickly grabbed it and returned to find Jon waiting for me in the kitchen.

After thanking him for doing the dishes, we prepared ourselves for another day at school—our daily dose of hell, as we jokingly referred to it.

A place that felt like purgatory for both of us as we navigated through classes filled with indifferent faces and monotonous routines.

Sliding on my black skull Doc Martens, we headed out the door together.

As we stepped out into the crisp morning air, preparing ourselves for another day in our own personal hellscape, Jon squeezed my hand reassuringly.

Despite our shared dread of facing another day at school, having Jon by my side made it more bearable. His presence brought comfort and support when I needed it most, for which I would be eternally grateful.