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Prologue
Gabriel
They say lightning never strikes the same place twice, but that’s a myth. In fact, there’s proof that lightning can strike the same place more than once. For instance, the Empire State Building in New York City is hit by lightning about twenty-three times a year. There are also numerous documented cases of individuals or objects being struck by lightning multiple times.
I should be considered one of those individuals. Even when this lightning is from an emotional storm, each strike has scorched a part of my soul.
When my high school girlfriend died while vacationing on Bantayan, it felt like the first bolt had struck. It hit as her father said, “Cardiogenic shock secondary to myocardial infarction,” when he called my parents to deliver the news.
At sixteen, I couldn’t grasp the medical terms. All I knew was that the girl I loved, the one I had given a promise ring and planned on spending my forever with, was gone.
Gone.
And now, years later . . .Well, I’m starting to believe forever is a fucking lie.
It’s a word people love to romanticize—a cruel joke used to dress up hopes and dreams. It’s just threads of lies and deception.
Loving someone with your whole heart only to lose them? It’s like getting hit with 100 million volts of electricity at once—your world upended in an instant.
When it happened the first time, I was gutted, left wandering through the smoking remains of the life we’d planned together.
This time . . . This time is so much worse. I can’t breathe, can’t even feel my heart beating in my chest. My lungs constrict as if two giant hands squeeze the air from them.
The pain is paralyzing in its intensity. As I watch the flatline on the monitor, I collapse onto the floor, doubling over with the force of the pain. It’s too much. I can’t bear to think of this life without her.
What happened to fucking forever?
What happened to all our promises?
What happened to . . .?
Nothing, of course, because forever is just a fucking fantasy.
Forever is just a seven-letter word for a pain that never fully heals. The kind that lurks under the surface, ready to ambush you when you least expect it. I wandered for years in the wasteland she left behind, unwilling to risk that devastation again.
I promised myself I would never love again, but I fell for the fantasy of forever one more time, and now how am I supposed to survive?
Chapter One
Ameline
There’s a part of me that wants to yell into the phone, “I hate you.” But I’m not a ten-year-old anymore, and Dad is halfway across the world in Thailand. The thought of something happening to him on his journey back, leaving those angry words as our last exchange, just because he vetoed my weekend plans at Tasmin’s, makes me shudder.
I could lash out about his new wife, tell him she’s unbearable. I might even suggest that, next time, he should consider just moving in with his flavor of the month, instead of rushing into marriage. This is, after all, Mrs. Lewis number five since the divorce from Mom. By this point, most people would have sworn off marriage, but not my father.
But this isn’t me being a brat, or playing the resentful daughter card, upset because Dad doesn’t shower me with attention. That ship sailed years ago. For the past couple of years my therapist and I have had countless sessions where we discussed my father’s failed relationships.
All we’ve come up with is that I need to accept Dad as he is, even if he is a serial monogamist who can’t be alone for more than a month. As long as I learn to live with it, I might have a chance at a somewhat healthy future. Let’s be honest, most children from divorced marriages are pretty screwed up.
It’s not about changing him, it’s about not letting his choices disrupt who I want to become.
Grandma always says I have an old soul, which she believes explains my composure, a trait she thinks is innate rather than nurtured by therapy sessions. She sees me as someone who possesses a deeper understanding and maturity beyond my years. She’s wrong about me, but I’ll never correct her. I love the cool way she describes me to the rest of the family.
But, in reality, my life is a balancing act. I constantly find myself doing whatever Dad wants so he’s happy with me, making sure my older sister Isadora doesn’t forget I exist, and occasionally reminding Cedric, even if he just thinks I’m his annoying little sister, that I’m still around and need my big brother’s help.
However, dealing with my latest stepmother is an entirely different challenge. She’s twenty-six, just a year older than Isadora. And yes, Dad could technically be her father, which, let’s face it, is pretty unsettling. But what bothers me more than their age gap is her obsession with me. Helen Lewis, just nine years my senior, is fixated on becoming the mother she thinks I’ve missed since the age of six.
She’s convinced I’m in dire need of discipline and nurturing, and she’s hell-bent on providing it. But she’s doing a pretty shitty job at that if I say so myself. I’m an introvert and since I like to keep Father happy I never break the rules—so why would I need discipline? Nurturing . . . Well, I’m not sure what that would entail but she’s never tried to give me a hug. Not even on my birthday.
