MIRABEL POV.
I woke up to the worst possible scenario—peace and quiet.
No mom yelling. There is no smell of breakfast. No last-minute “Mirabel, get up before you fail at life” reminders. It was just me, blinking at the ceiling, feeling like I had woken up in the wrong universe.
I groggily reached for my phone. 7:45 AM.
Wait. SEVEN. FORTY-FIVE.
I shot up so fast that my brain barely had time to process the betrayal. “No. No, no, no.”
I practically flew out of bed, my blanket still half-wrapped around my leg as I stumbled into the kitchen. That’s when I saw it—a letter on the counter. A letter. Like I was living in a historical drama.
Mirabel, I had to leave early for work. I’ll be home late. Don’t forget to eat breakfast.
That was it. That was the entire thing. No “Hey, wake up bef
