Page 4 of Journey to Love

She meets my gaze with understanding, offering a reassuring smile. "It's not my story to tell, Anya," she replies, her words a comforting reassurance.

With a nod of gratitude, I follow Heather to her car, the familiar sense of homecoming mingling with a newfound sense of uncertainty. As we approach my childhood home, I steel myself for the inevitable confrontation with my parents. It won't be easy, but it's a step towards healing and reclaiming control of my life.

As I approach the door, my heart sinks as it swings open to reveal my mom's glaring gaze. She forces a smile and waves goodbye to Heather, her facade crumbling the moment we're alone. I brace myself for the storm of her wrath, knowing that there's no escaping it.

"I'm sorry," I murmur softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"YOU'RE SORRY? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED YOUR DAD AND I WERE?!" she bellows, her anger reverberating through the air.

I shrink back, the weight of her words crushing me. Without a word, she drags me inside, her grip tight and unyielding. I've learned long ago that there's no reasoning with her when she's like this. I simply endure the onslaught of her fury, my silence a shield against her onslaught.

"ANYA! I'm TALKING TO YOU!" she shouts, snapping me out of my reverie.

I raise my eyes to meet hers, bracing myself for another barrage of accusations. "I'm sorry I made you worry. It wasn't intentional. Time just got away from me, and then I fell asleep," I plead, my voice trembling with desperation.

But my words fall on deaf ears as my mom continues to glare at me, her anger palpable in the air. "WERE YOU WITH PAUL?!" she demands, her tone accusatory.

My heart clenches at the mention of his name, and I instinctively recoil. "No," I lie, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. It's easier than telling her the truth, knowing that she wouldn't be able to handle the reality of my situation. So I bury the truth deep within me, another layer of deception in a life filled with lies.

As my mom's anger dissipates, she sighs and attempts to regain her composure. "You better not have been!" she warns, her tone stern.

I nod meekly, averting my gaze. "I wasn't with him. I spent the night with Heather and lost track of time. I'm sorry again for worrying you," I apologize, the weight of guilt heavy on my shoulders.

To my surprise, my mom pulls me into a hug, her embrace a mix of relief and concern. "Okay, I'm sorry for yelling, but you had me worried all night. You'll understand when you have kids of your own," she says, her voice softer now.

I nod, reciprocating the hug before retreating to my room. But before I can escape, her words cut through the air like a knife. "You know if you had listened to us in the first place, this whole thing with Paul wouldn't have happened," she remarks, her tone tinged with accusation.

I freeze, her words echoing in my mind. Is she suggesting that everything that happened with Paul is my fault? The injustice of it all stings, but I swallow my indignation, knowing that arguing would only escalate the situation further.

As I sink onto my bed, frustration and hurt swirl within me. My parents may never understand the truth of what happened, and I can't risk being blamed for something that wasn't my fault. With a heavy heart, I realize that keeping secrets is the only way to protect myself.

Heather asked about my plan, and now it's crystal clear. I'll keep my head down, go to work, and pray for a brighter future. Because right now, my life seriously sucks, and I'm the only one who can change it.

PART ONE

The Beginning

Chapter One

Present Day

Anya

I step into the bustling kitchen, the aroma of breakfast filling the air. It's Sunday morning, our designated time to gather as a family and share a meal together. Kora and Mateo, my younger siblings, are already seated at the table, engrossed in their phones. I can't help but roll my eyes at their digital distraction before joining my mom in preparing the food.

"Thank you, Anya, for helping me bring the food to the table," my mom says loudly, her words intended to catch the attention of my siblings. Despite her efforts, they remain absorbed in their screens. My dad clears his throat, his stern gaze fixed on them.

Mateo finally looks up, confusion evident in his expression. "What?" he mumbles, glancing between our parents.

My dad's deep voice cuts through the air as he addresses Kora. "Kora?" he calls out.

Startled, Kora looks up from her phone. "What?" she responds, her attention divided.

My mom gestures subtly towards their devices, silently urging them to put them away. "Put it away. This is our Sunday breakfast. You both can talk to your friends later," she instructs, her tone firm yet gentle.

With resigned sighs, Kora and Mateo reluctantly comply, stowing their phones away. As the digital distractions are set aside, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for this brief moment of family togetherness amidst the chaos of our lives.

We all gather around the table, and my dad leads us in prayer, his voice resonating with reverence. As we bow our heads and join hands, a sense of unity washes over us.

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