Chapter 3 Magnolia Daisy Blossom.

🌸Magnolia's Pov🌸

Magnolia Daisy Blossom. Yep! That's my name.

I took my maternal name," Blossom"; my dad abandoned us after my birth.

My mom loves flowers, she tends her own little garden, and she won't shut up about how she named me after her favorite flowers.

"Lia," that's what she calls me....

"When I opened my eyes in the postpartum room, the first person I asked of, was your father, but guess what! He was nowhere to be found. He dropped me off at the hospital when I was in labour and disappeared. I was disposed to hating you even before I saw you because I felt you took the only thing that mattered most to me away from me...Your father.

The nurse brought you to my bed, you were crying so loud I could feel my eardrums melting away. I didn't want to look at you at first, but you were being so persistent in your crying, the nurse had to beg me to hold you and breastfeed you. I reluctantly took you in my arms, and all my resentments flew through the hospital windows. You were and still are the fairest, most beautiful, and delicate thing I've ever seen in my entire life.

Magnolia....The word fell out of my mouth. I couldn't take my eyes off you as you were sucking on my nipples, your tiny hands pressed into my skin," she would say smiling, reminiscing about how tiny and adorable I was.

"You looked so much like your dad, one stare at you and I'm reminded of him. Lia, I wanted to hate you, I wanted to despise you so much, I wanted to feel disgust when I looked at you, but all I could feel was love and admiration. You reminded me of him, but not in a bad way, but in the softest way possible.

When you were 3 months old, the warmth of spring had just started to fill the air. In my little garden, I was trimming my daffodil bed while you were tucked snugly into your stroller, positioned close to the cheerful daisies that dotted the neighboring flower bed. You started crying, I figured you were hungry, so I walked over to where your stroller was, I took you in my arms, and carried you inside to make a formula for you, but I noticed you, holding a stem of a daisy flower in your left hand. Your grip was so tight, I couldn't even get it out of your hand.

The whole day, you held on to it so tightly that I was amazed. I gave you the middle name 'Daisy' the next day," she'd say, laughing.

I'd heard that story a gazillion times, I could tell it word for word. My mom was a very complicated woman; she was sweet, but she was a complex being. Sometimes I wonder if it's because of all the hardships she's endured throughout her life.

Her stepdad sexually assaulted her and whenever she speaks to her mom about it, she'd defend her douche of a husband. My mom couldn't take it anymore, she ran away when she was 16 years old. I don't know how she managed to survive, but somehow she did. At 18 years old, she met my dad, and sometimes I wish she hadn't met him. She loved him so much, it became an obsession.

"I. Was. Taken. By. Him.

Addicted to him.

I'm not sure it was healthy-how codependent I was.

But when a person finds someone who makes all the negativity in their lives disappear, it's hard not to feed off that person. I fed off Ricky in order to keep my soul alive. It was starving and shriveled before I met him, but being in his presence nourished me. Sometimes I felt if I didn't have him, I couldn't function." She'd tell me whenever I asked of him.

Deep down, I know she's feeling poetic and all, but that's just a line she copied from Verity by Colleen Hoover.

"What? It just.... It resonates with my feelings for your dad," she'd add, whenever I give her that judging, "side eye" look.

My mom loves reading. She reads a 'cooking recipe' book, an article on how caterpillars morph into butterflies, romance novels, thrillers, sci-fi, and all. She didn't just stick to one genre, and I loved her for it. She was the smartest person I knew.

My dad's name is Enrique Alfredo, my mom fondly calls him "Ricky." He's Mexican, and I am a spitting image of him, except my hair was strawberry blonde, and I had hazel-green eyes. This is the only thing I know about him, except for the part that he's my mom's most cherished being.

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The room was still dim and silent when Magnolia's mother's voice pierced through the dawn's quietude like a knife. "Lia! Wake up!! You're late for school!!"

Startled, Magnolia jumped out of bed, her body still sluggish and her mind drowsy. She dashed into the bathroom, her morning ritual a flurry of movements as she washed her face and glanced at her reflection in the mirror.

Her movements were as swift as her thoughts were scattered-revolving around the prospect of starting at a new school. She knelt beside her bed, said a quick prayer, and stood up. Magnolia's gaze flicked across the room, and she spotted the rumpled mess that was her bed. 'Make your bed after waking up,' her mother had drummed into her from a young age. It was a rule she followed, but today, her movements were half-hearted, distracted by the tumultuous swirl of emotions in her head.

Back in the bathroom, Magnolia snatched her toothbrush from its holder and slapped a dollop of toothpaste onto it. The bristles scraped vigorously against her teeth, white foam frothing as she mechanically brushed them clean. A nagging voice rose in the depths of her mind, questioning the importance of her rushed dental hygiene. 'I don't plan on talking to anyone today anyway,' Magnolia muttered to herself. Her breath still smelled of toothpaste when she paused, gazing at the sink, lost in thought.

She headed back to her room, surveying the array of underwear on her dresser. She picked up a pair of plain white panties.

'Is this really necessary?' Magnolia wondered, her subconscious voice chiming in once again. 'Even if you wear a pair of worn-out granny panties, no one is going to see them, so it doesn't matter.'

She sighed, exasperated at her own mind. 'Arghhhh, my subconscious is at it again! Why do I bother to indulge in these pointless inner dialogues? Thank you, but no thank you,' she internally exclaimed.

Magnolia stepped into the shower, letting the warm water envelop her body, washing away the remnants of sleep. She lathered herself with soap, her hands briskly gliding over her skin. The shower provided a brief moment of peace, a pause in the rush of her morning routine. But even here, Magnolia's mind refused to quiet. Thoughts of her mother's failing business, her own insecurities, and the potential pitfalls of starting at a new school coalesced, creating a torrent of anxiety that threatened to drown her.

She emerged from the shower, towel-drying her strawberry blondehair, an odd feeling of pride welling up within her. Despite all the turmoil in her life, one beacon of hope glinted in the darkness: she was a scholarship student at the most prestigious high school in the country. It was an achievement that filled her with a sense of accomplishment, despite her usual reticence to boast.

'I'm so proud of you, baby,' she whispered, her fingers running through her wet hair, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She was proud of herself. It was a rare moment of self-affirmation, an acknowledgement that, despite her troubles, she had achieved something remarkable.

With a sense of newfound determination, she finished getting dressed. Each item of clothing, carefully chosen for its neutral simplicity, is a reflection of her desire to blend in, to avoid drawing attention to herself. She was a chameleon, always adapting to her environment, always striving to avoid being the center of attention. It was a survival mechanism, one that had served her well over the years.

She walked over to her dresser, took a little brown box, opened it, and took the stone inside it. It was a normal-looking stone, but it holds a special place in her heart.

The aisles of the grocery store stretched out, endless in their array of goods. Eight-year-old Lia stood alone, clutching the hem of her gown, eyes wide with fear. Her mother had vanished in pursuit of a man she claimed resembled her father, leaving her daughter in the wake of her obsession.

Lia waited, her heartbeat quickening with each passing minute. Customers streamed by, their eyes sliding over the abandoned child without a second glance. She was invisible, adrift in a sea of strangers.

Just when despair threatened to overwhelm her, a boy in a turquoise green "The Hulk" shirt appeared.

His approach was confident, unhurried. His gaze was kind and curious, contrasting starkly with the indifference of the passersby.

"Hi," he said, his voice gentle, as though he were addressing a spooked animal. "Where's your mom?"

Lia couldn't bring herself to speak. Instead, she fixed her gaze on his shoes, the intricate pattern of their laces absorbing her attention.

"Or your dad?" he pressed, bending down until he was eye level with her. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing his hand slowly, as though he were extracting a delicate treasure. In his palm was a stone, ordinary, unremarkable stone, save for its singularity.

"This is my lucky charm stone," he said, extending his hand. "I'm giving it to you because you look like you need it."

Lia's eyes widened, drawn in by the kindness of this stranger. Her instincts urged her to recoil, but she held firm, allowing him to place the stone in her hand. As he turned to leave, Lia found herself following him. In her mind, the stone was a talisman, imbued with power beyond its humble appearance. The boy's small act of kindness had carved a space for hope to take root, a space where her loneliness could find reprieve.

The boy, unaware of the tremulous steps pursuing him, continued on his path until the sound of fabric rustling against fabric finally caught his attention.

He turned, and for the first time, their eyes met. "His eyes we're beautiful, so dark like a dark hole sucking you in, and you willingly give in to its allures," eight year old Lia thought.

Lia, emboldened by the stone, raised her hand, motioning for him to extend his. He did so without hesitation, the trust between them already blossoming. In her tiny fist, a single pink hair parker sat, frayed and well-loved.

She deposited it into his hand, her gaze never wavering. It was a silent exchange, a communication beyond words.

The boy looked down at his palm, a smile spreading across his face. He nodded, tucking the parker into his pocket, a secret tucked away with it.

With a final, knowing glance, the boy turned and made his way down the aisle, disappearing around the corner and into the bustle of the store. But at that moment, something had shifted. A seed had been planted, a seed of gratitude, of hope, of faith in the kindness of strangers.

Minutes later, the shadow of a familiar figure appeared at the end of the aisle. Lia's mother, her eyes darting about in search of her daughter, spotted her amid the fluorescent-lit aisles.

"Lia!" she cried, her voice a blend of relief and exasperation. "Where have you been?

I've been looking all over for you!"

Lia remained silent, clutching the stone in her hand. Her mother took her silence as petulance and ushered her away, a stream of admonishments falling from her lips.

But as they walked away, Lia glanced over her shoulder, towards the corner where the boy had disappeared. And for the briefest moment, she could have sworn she saw him there, his eyes meeting hers in a shared understanding, a promise of a brighter tomorrow.

I glanced at my room one last time and walked out. I closed the door behind me and headed to the kitchen.

"Lia, I made your favorite...Toasted avocado sandwich with egg and bacon, just how you like it," she said, smiling. I walked over to our little dining table and sat down. "I also squeezed some fresh oranges", she added, handing me a cup of orange juice. I ate just two sandwiches and drank the juice.

"I'm off, Rosy," I say, standing up. It's this 'us-ting' we do. I call her by her name, and she loves it. She said it made her feel young, like she's my sister and not my mom. I walked over where she was seated, pecked her cheeks and just when I was about to leave, she took my hands and said "I love you Lia, and I'm so proud of you." I muttered an almost silent "thank you Rosy, and I love you too" and left.