Chapter 3: Promises in the Storm

Lila was the daughter of General Robert Caldwell, the decorated Army hero. She was pure, kind, and beautiful—one of the few girls in Silver Hollow with both talent and looks.

People admired her, but she never let it go to her head. She’d help anyone who needed it, from the old folks at the church to the kids running wild in the streets. I loved that about her.

My father was the Superintendent, responsible for overseeing the city’s schools and mentoring the mayor’s children.

He was the kind of man who remembered everyone’s name and made sure no kid fell through the cracks. Our home was always full of books and laughter, the kind of place people dropped by just to feel welcome.

He and General Caldwell were close friends, so from birth, our families arranged a future together for Lila and me. It was always just assumed.

There were always hints—shared glances at Sunday picnics, whispered promises when no one was listening. It felt like the world was rooting for us.

After we started at the academy, the mayor ordered Lila and me to join the city’s private school and study alongside the mayor’s kids.

It was a big deal, getting into that school. Most kids in Silver Hollow never got the chance. We were nervous, but excited. It felt like the start of something new.

Caroline’s mother died young and was never well-liked, so Caroline was also ignored by the mayor and bullied by the other students.

She walked the halls with her head down, clutching her books to her chest. The teachers barely noticed her, and the other kids made her life hell.

The academy was a place where people sucked up to the powerful and picked on the weak—no one helped her.

It was a shark tank, and Caroline was the smallest fish. Even the teachers looked the other way.

Lila couldn’t stand to see people abuse their power. Every time she saw Caroline being bullied, she’d step in, no matter the risk.

She’d march right up to the biggest kid in the room and tell them off, never mind the consequences. She had a way of making people stop and listen—her words carried weight, even with adults.

I once told Lila not to get involved in other people’s business, but she said Caroline was pitiful, and she couldn’t bear it.

She gave me that look—the one that meant she’d already made up her mind. "If you see someone drowning, you don’t just walk away," she said. That was Lila, through and through.

Gradually, no one bullied Caroline anymore.

People learned not to mess with Lila, and by extension, not to mess with Caroline. It was like the sun finally came out for her.

At that time, Caroline said Lila was her savior.

She clung to Lila, grateful and a little awestruck. It was the first time I saw Caroline smile like she meant it.

She also said Lila was like sunshine, warming her heart.

It sounded cheesy, but she said it with such sincerity you couldn’t help but believe her. She looked at Lila like she was her whole world.

She asked Lila if they could be good friends.

Her voice shook, but there was hope in her eyes. She wanted a friend more than anything.

Lila immediately agreed and promised they would be friends for life.

No hesitation. That was Lila—once she let you in, she was loyal forever.

From then on, we did everything together—studied, rode bikes, flew kites, explored the woods. Every day was an adventure.

Those were the golden days—summer afternoons chasing fireflies, autumn leaves crunching under our sneakers. We were inseparable, the three of us against the world.

Until Caroline came of age.

She changed almost overnight—taller, quieter, with a sadness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. The weight of expectation settled on her shoulders.

One day, she ran to Lila crying, saying that at the start of next year, her father would send her to Canada for a political marriage.

She was breathless, clutching Lila’s arm so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her tears soaked Lila’s sleeve, and I’d never seen her so scared.

We all knew that the Canadian Prime Minister was known for his cruelty, and many of his wives had died tragically.

It was the sort of thing people whispered about at dinner parties, the kind of rumor that made your skin crawl. No one wanted that fate for Caroline.

With red eyes, Caroline said that being sent away for a political marriage was worse than death.

She was shaking, her voice cracking on every word. "I’d rather die than be sent to him," she sobbed. It was raw, desperate, and real.

After she said that, she tried to hit her head against the wall, but Lila and I quickly stopped her.

We grabbed her arms, pulling her back. She collapsed between us, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. We just held her, not knowing what else to do.

We sat by the river, racking our brains for a way to prevent Caroline from being sent away.

The water flowed quietly past, the sun setting behind the trees. We tossed out ideas, desperate for a solution, but everything seemed impossible.