Chapter 4: Lost and Left Behind

Halfway there, it started to rain.

The sky split open, fat drops pounding the pavement. My hoodie soaked through in seconds, hair plastered to my forehead. People sprinted for cover under awnings, their laughter echoing off the wet blacktop. I let the rain hide my tears, mixing sorrow and sky on my cheeks.

People rushed past, all trying to escape the downpour. Only then did I dare to cry, rain and tears streaming together.

Nobody noticed me—the girl hunched under a leaky streetlight, shoulders shaking. For once, I wasn’t worried about anyone seeing me cry. The world blurred at the edges, all sound muffled but the hammering rain.

When I got to school, almost everyone had left.

The halls smelled like wet coats and old textbooks. My footsteps echoed, lockers clanging as the janitor did his rounds. I felt like a ghost drifting through someone else’s memories.

I reached into the filthy trash can.

I wrinkled my nose, digging past sticky soda cans and greasy burger wrappers. The stench was awful—moldy bread, spoiled milk, something unidentifiable on my fingers. But I didn’t care. I needed that watch, needed to reclaim at least one piece of myself.

The stench was overwhelming, but I searched again and again, desperate for the watch I’d thrown away.

Rain had soaked the plastic liner, making everything slippery and cold. My stomach rolled, but I kept going. I imagined someone walking in and seeing me like this, but shame couldn’t stop me now.

I bit my lip, wanting to slap myself for tossing it.

My teeth dug in so hard I tasted blood. I kept cursing myself—why let them get to me? Why didn’t I keep it, pawn it, anything but this?

Even selling it would have brought in a few bucks.

That money could’ve bought a bus ticket, or a meal, or a little bit of hope. Now, it was gone, just like everything else.

I searched for hours, digging through every piece of trash, but the watch was gone.

By the time I stopped, my hands were raw and trembling, hair stuck to my face. I sagged against the cinderblock wall, empty-handed, more lost than ever.

I walked home in a daze, hopeless.

The rain had let up, but the air was heavy. I barely noticed the puddles, my sneakers squelching every step. Streetlights flickered in the fog, the world a blur of gold and gray.

By then, the street was deserted, rain pouring down, drops stinging as they hit me.

Not a car in sight. Even the neighborhood dogs were quiet, huddled somewhere warm. Each drop on my skin felt like a tiny punishment, the world moving on whether I wanted it to or not.

When I got home, my dad still hadn’t returned.

The porch light was off, and the house looked smaller in the dark. As I stepped inside, the air was thick with the smell of rain-soaked carpet and stale dust. My footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty house, each creak a reminder of how alone I was.

The house that was once warm now felt cold and empty.

Familiar clutter—old magazines, the faded afghan—only made the loneliness sharper. I wrapped myself in a blanket, chasing away the chill deep in my bones.

I waited, and waited...

Time dragged, hours stretching endless. I watched shadows creep across the walls, phone clutched in my hand, willing it to ring.

In the end, someone rushed over and told me, “Your dad and mom jumped into the river.”

It was a neighbor, voice shaky and urgent. The words dropped like stones. My knees buckled, the world spinning out of focus.

That year, I was a senior at Maple Heights High. I lost both my parents and became an orphan.

The rest of the year passed in a haze—sympathy cards on the kitchen table, casseroles I never ate, whispers in the hallway. People pitied me, but no one knew how it felt to stand in the ruins of your life, not even eighteen, and alone.