What I promised her
CAMILA'S POV
FLASHBACK — Camila, Age 11.
Mom's janitor uniform hung loose on her frame, but it was the desperation in her eyes, scrubbing grout between lockers, that cut deepest.
Small and powerless, I stood frozen in my pleated skirt and itchy school sweater, watching her with a heart full of helplessness.
And then came laughter.
“Hey Camila!” Jocelyn—Miss Perfect Hair, Full-Time Witch—called out. “Your maid forgot her place again!”
I stared at her, pretending I didn’t want to punch her grumpy face.
“She missed a spot, you had better get her to lick it!” another one added, giggling like evil was an elective.
Heat rushed up my neck, I wanted to shrink, vanish, crawl out of my skin.
But worst of all? My mom looked up... and smiled at me. That tired kind of smile that said it’s fine, even when it wasn’t.
“Camila,” Jocelyn went on, “do you borrow her rags too or just the poverty?”
Now! That one hit deep, but I couldn't say a word. I just walked away and hid behind the gym bleachers.
And that was the day I made the vow: No one would ever look at me like that again or make me feel like I was less.
I’d survive by any means, no matter what it would cost me.
A tear slipped down my cheek as the memories of those days flooded back to haunt me.
I blinked, and the school vanished. I was back on the beach, alone with the wind and my ridiculously emotional brain.
And that—that is exactly why I work like hell, smile when it burns, and don’t flinch when the world throws punches.
Because I promised us, I’ll make it.
The tide rolled in and out, quiet and steady.
Then Asher's voice echoed in my mind: “Because you're the only one I trust to survive it… You've got grit. And you want a good life.”
He totally wasn't wrong.
Because yeah… I crave a better life so desperately, I'd do anything to have it.
One where I could spoil my mom, give her days of rest instead of endless work. One where she’d never have to lift another mop or worry if I could make rent.
But not like this.
Not as someone’s accessory, and definitely not in his world where love had no place and control wore a tuxedo.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I struggled to break free from the fog.
‘Oh, snap out of it Camila, I muttered.
I didn't need this mental muddle right now.
Honestly, I don't.
My emotional bandwidth is maxed out and I've hit my breakdown limit for the quarter!
And thank goodness! I still had one more day to unwind.
Oh right—weekend.
Two days back in the town that built me and maybe remembering who I was before high-rises and Reyes-level headaches would help cleanse my mind.
The gulls cried overhead. The breeze tugged at my curls and for the first time in what felt like years, I exhaled properly.
Then—
“Camila!”
The back door to the diner swung open like it was mad.
“Camila, hurry! I need hands, not your sunbathing!”
I laughed.
“Mum, I’m coming!” I yelled back, brushing sand off my legs like I wasn’t having an emotional breakdown five seconds ago.
My mum calling out for me now meant plates were stacking, orders were backing up, and Angela had probably vanished on another mysterious break.
I slipped on my sandals, tied my hair up, and jogged toward the diner.
The smell of grilled onions and cafecito was already curling in the air.
Home didn’t ask for much—Just everything you had.
The diner was already alive: sunlight pouring through the windows, kids arguing over pancakes, and my mom flipping eggs like she was on a cooking show with zero patience.
“Camila! Table three’s waiting!”
“On it!”
Mr. Alvarez walked in, grumbling at his crossword. Someone yelled for crispy edges, another begged for more syrup, and a kettle screamed like it had trauma.
I was everywhere—coffee pot in one hand, napkins in the other, nodding like a bobblehead.
“Got it!”
(Probably didn’t. Still said it.)
People laughed, spoons hit the floor, and somehow, I felt… okay.
No one asked how I was.
And honestly? That was the best part.
But eventually, I stepped outside for some air.
The sun was low, the alley smelled like grease and memories. I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and let the quiet do its thing.
Because the last 24 hours? Yeah… my brain needed a snack break.
But all of a sudden—a sound cracked through the breeze.
Then came my name, this time not playful—but pained.
“Camila….”
My mother’s voice was strangled, then cut.
I didn't wait to think, I ran so fast through the swinging door and across a blur of startled faces.
And when I got there, it was as though my eyes had failed me—
Behind the counter—was my mother, slumped in a tangled heap of limbs with her eyes half-closed and chest heaving in ragged gasps. Her outstretched arm twitched, fingers grasping at nothing.
My knees buckled, and I crashed to the floor before I could realise it.
Time stopped abruptly.
“Mom—Mom…, stay with me,” I whispered, my voice shaking, breath gone. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.”
I tapped her continuously but my mum wasn't responding.
Her skin became cold–too cold like the warmth had been gone for a while and no one noticed.
I tried to hold it together, but my world was shattering. Every fiber of my being screamed in agony as tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision with scream clawing its way up my throat like a wildfire raging out of control, and my heart was heavy with desperation. But my mother—my mother—wasn’t moving.
“Somebody help me!” I cried loudly. “Please, call an ambulance!”
Chairs scraped and someone ran towards us but everything else stopped.
And in that awful stillness,
with her breath shallow and limbs still, my heart pounded like it already knew—
I was losing her.