Fractured Promises

Chapter 8: What Grief Left Behind

LILY

Lily discovered early on that life rarely gave without taking first.

Her childhood was shaped by sacrifices and silent strength, forged by loss and defined by resilience. Amidst the darkness, there were glimmers of light—people and moments that moulded her into the woman she was becoming.

Lily’s earliest memories were tainted by loss.

The deepest loss of her life came when she was just twelve when her father passed away—a cold, grey morning that shattered her family and reshaped her world.

Her mother, Ruth, had been the pillar that held them together, but even pillars crack under the weight of grief.

Her father, Anthony, wasn’t wealthy, but he was kind, loving, and present.

He worked long hours at a local factory, and every night, regardless of his exhaustion, he’d scoop Lily into his arms, spinning her until her laughter filled their tiny living room.

She cherished the warmth of his embrace and the security of knowing he’d always be there. But death doesn’t discriminate in its love.

Her father’s death wasn’t sudden, but it was cruel.

Cancer slowly and agonisingly stole him away, stripping away the man who had once carried her on his shoulders and whispered tales about stars and dreams.

She remembered the sterile scent of the hospital, the hushed beeps of machines, the overwhelming medical debt, and the moment her mother’s quiet sobs conveyed the truth: he was gone.

In that instant, she made a decision: she would become a doctor and save as many lives as possible to prevent another little girl from enduring the sorrow and trauma she had to endure.

His absence left an indelible void in their home, a chasm that no words or comfort could fill.

Overnight, her mother, Ruth, became both mother and father—working tirelessly, holding their fragile family together with unwavering will. However, it was never enough.

Poverty became their constant companion, clinging to them relentlessly, despite Ruth’s unwavering efforts.

Her mother, once a vibrant woman, became a shadow of herself, her grief hardening her edges. To keep their family afloat, she worked two jobs, but even then, there were nights when they went to bed with empty stomachs.

Yet, it wasn’t hunger that pained Lily the most. It was witnessing her mother’s gradual loss of herself, piece by piece, as she struggled to survive.

However, if Ruth became hardened, her eldest sister, Clara, turned cruel.

Clara was fifteen when their father passed away, on the cusp of adulthood but ill-prepared for the immense burden that fell upon her shoulders.

She detested poverty, the cramped apartment, and the sacrifices Lily embraced. She loathed the fact that she had to abandon her teenage dreams to help raise her siblings.

But what Clara despised most was the injustice of their situation. She stayed out late, dated boys who drove recklessly, and cursed their lives with venom that burned deep.

“You think being good will save us?” Clara snapped once when Lily confronted her about sneaking out.

“Wake up, Lily. Life doesn’t reward good girls. It devours them and discards them.”

“We shouldn’t be living like this,” Clara would mutter under her breath, her words sharp as broken glass. “It’s unfair.”

But Lily refused to succumb to her sister’s fate. She clung to the hope that education could be her escape from their struggles.

Lily recalled the fights, the bitterness that blossomed between Clara and their mother. Arguments about money, food, and responsibilities consumed them.

Clara yearned for freedom, not a life spent scrubbing floors or caring for children.

When the arguments became too overwhelming, she withdrew. She stopped helping and caring, disappearing into late-night parties and whispering secrets. She returned home reeking of cigarettes and alcohol.

“You’ll end up pregnant or dead,” Ruth once said, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Better than rotting in this dump,” Clara retorted, her eyes cold and indifferent.

Lily, the second in line, had to step up.

At twelve, she became a second mother to her younger siblings. She learned to soothe their tears, stretch groceries when the pantry was bare, and hold her mother’s hand when the weight of loss was too heavy.

However, beneath her strength, Lily struggled.

High school was a battlefield for her.

She wore Clara’s hand-me-down clothes that never quite fit. Her shoes had worn soles, and her backpack frayed at the edges.

She was the girl who sat quietly in the corner, scribbling in tattered notebooks with her eyes downcast.

Of course, the other kids noticed her. They whispered when she passed, mocked her clothes, her silence, and her poverty. There was no mercy in teenage cruelty.

But Lily endured. She built armour from resilience. Each insult, each snide glance, she wore like a badge. Not because she was immune, but because survival demanded it.

She worked part-time jobs after school—cleaning houses and stocking shelves at the corner store. Every dollar she earned went into a jar beneath her bed, a secret dream she nurtured in the dark. A dream of escape and medical school.

And when exhaustion made her body ache and failure loomed like a shadow, she remembered her mother’s tired eyes, her father’s laughter, and what it meant to survive.

But the hardest part wasn’t the hunger, the long hours, or the quiet humiliation of poverty.

It was Clara.

Clara, who mocked Lily’s ambition.

“You think school’s going to save you?” Clara would sneer. “You’ll end up just like Mom. Scrubbing floors and breaking your back for nothing.”

But Lily’s dreams were her rebellion. She refused to let bitterness win.

“You’ve already given up,” Lily said one night, her voice sharp. “But I won’t. I’m not like you.”

It was one of their last conversations before Clara left.

One morning, Lily woke to find her sister gone. No note, no goodbye. Just an empty bed and an absence that settled like dust over the family.

Ruth wept for weeks, not just for Clara, but also for the perceived failure she believed she had endured. Even years later, Clara’s absence left an indelible mark, like a scar. And Lily? She learned to cease hoping and embrace self-sufficiency.

Despite these changes, she still felt lonely.

Then, she met Zain—the sole individual who didn’t perceive her solely as a struggle.