Chapter 1
My name was Belinda Cortez, and I was 20 years old.
I had almost no memory of life before I was 12.
My aunt claimed it was because of the fire. She said the inferno didn't just claim my parents; it scorched my lungs and shattered my mind.
When she dragged me out of the smoke, I wasn't breathing.
It took three agonizing days and nights of emergency care to pull me back from the brink, but my lungs remained permanently crippled.
The doctors warned me that I would depend on medication to breathe for the rest of my days. I couldn't do strenuous exercise, couldn't go to crowded places, and couldn't catch any respiratory infections. Otherwise, I could suffocate at any moment.
For eight years, I have not stepped outside.
We had lived in this tiny apartment.
My aunt spent every day administering my nebulizer, dosing my medicine, and checking my blood oxygen levels.
She was all I had.
After my parents died, all our relatives abandoned me. She was the only one who stepped forward.
"Don't be afraid, Belle," she promised. "I will take care of you."
And she had been true to her word.
Even when money was tight, she never uttered a single word of resentment.
I had always believed that the person I owed the most in this world was her.
After all, if not for the duty of looking after me, she wouldn't be entering her forties completely alone.
Then, one day, the nebulizer broke.
My aunt had finished my morning treatment before heading out to the market.
When I tried to operate the machine at noon, it emitted a harsh, grinding sound before falling completely silent.
I tapped it and pressed the switch repeatedly, but it was dead.
Panic began to set in.
I called my aunt, but there was no answer.
I tried again, but I still couldn't reach her.
I sat on my bed, terrified.
Without the treatment, would I stop breathing? Would I suffocate?
I locked the windows tight, lay flat, and tried to regulate my breathing just as she had taught me.
I spent the entire afternoon lying there.
And then, something strange happened.
I did not wheeze.
I felt no tightness in my chest.
In fact, there was no discomfort at all.
By the time my aunt returned in the evening, I felt remarkably well—better, in fact, than I usually felt after a treatment.
"Aunt Penelope, the nebulizer is broken," I told her.
Her expression shifted instantly.
"Broken? When?"
"At noon."
She dropped her bags and hurried over, pressing a hand to my forehead, checking my pulse, and leaning in to listen to my chest.
"How are you feeling? Anything hurt?"
"No," I admitted. "I actually feel quite good."
She stared at me for a few seconds before breaking into a smile.
"That is a relief. Perhaps the weather is just nice today, and the air quality is good."
She turned to retrieve the machine.
"I will have it repaired tomorrow. For tonight, just take your medicine and get some rest."
I nodded, but a seed of doubt had been planted.
I had gone half a day without treatment and felt better than ever.
Was this normal?
