Chapter One
Hazel’s POV
The moment I saw the doctor, something inside me twisted.
His eyes, usually so steady and reassuring, darted away from mine, and his mouth was set in a line too straight to mean anything good. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I knew then, something was terribly wrong.
"My mom," I started, my voice barely a whisper. "How is she?"
The doctor sighed, his face a mask of sorrow. "Hazel, please sit down." But I couldn't. My legs carried me past him, straight to my mother's bedside. She looked so frail, so unlike the vibrant woman who had raised me.
Several tubes and wires were wrapped around my mothers lean body. I'm always with her. I only leave her side when I go out to find a way to raise more money for her chemotherapy treatments.
"What's wrong with her?" I demanded more from the universe than anyone in particular.
The doctor took a deep breath. "Hazel, I'm so sorry. Your mother's cancer has progressed faster than we anticipated. We've done everything we can, but..."
But what? My mind screamed for him to finish, even as I feared the end of his sentence.
"She passed away a few minutes ago."
No. This couldn't be happening. Not my mom. She was supposed to beat this. We were supposed to have more time. I fell to my knees, the sobs tearing through me with the force of a hurricane.
"Mom, please," I begged, clutching her hand, cold and lifeless in mine. "You can't leave me. Please come back."
The nurses tried to console me, their words a blur of sympathy and sorrow. But nothing they said could reach me. I was lost in a sea of grief, drowning in the reality that my mother was gone.
And then he showed up. My father, if you could even call him that. Staggering into the room, reeking of alcohol and bad decisions. I stared at him, the rage building inside me like a fire.
"You," I hissed, my voice laced with all the hurt and anger I felt.
"You did nothing! You could have helped her, but you didn't. You never do!"
He looked at me, his eyes clouded with drink, unfazed by my words. "What does it matter? She was going to die anyway. Cancer has no cure."
That was it. The final straw. The room spun as the full weight of my grief, my anger, and my utter despair crashed into me. I stood, my body trembling with emotion.
"I hate you so much!" The words ripped from me, raw and filled with every ounce of pain I felt.
"I hate you!"
After my mother's funeral, the world seemed to stand still. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't even muster the energy to speak. The grief was a heavy cloak, smothering me day and night.
I cried until my tears ran dry, and then I cried some more. My heart was shattered, and my spirit, the omega spirit that had always been so resilient, began to wither and fade.
The vibrant energy that had once filled me was now a distant memory, replaced by an aching emptiness.
As the days turned into weeks, my body and omega spirit grew weaker. I could feel the life draining out of me and my father whom I rarely see didn’t care about me.
It was then I realized I had to do something, anything, to pull myself out of this mess. I couldn't let my mother's memory be tarnished by my surrender to despair. She had always been a fighter, and I knew I had to fight too, not just for her, but for myself.