Mia

Chapter 1

POV: Mia

It was almost noon.

Alex marched ahead of me, tugging on my hand. She’d been planning this lake trip the whole summer—floaties, snacks, a towel with cartoon dolphins—and we both knew how hard it was for me to take her to the water.

When I was five, Mom decided to teach me how to swim. She put me into the lake with an oversized inflatable ring. It slipped, wrapped around my feet, and pulled my head underwater.

The entire incident lasted less than a minute, but it left me with a fear of water.

Now, at twenty-three, I still avoid going past my waist and prefer firm ground.

Our bus was set to leave in thirty minutes. Alex, burdened with all her gear, looked like a bright, impatient turtle. She nudged my arm, thoroughly unimpressed with my walking speed.

“You could have worn normal shoes for once,” she protested as I paused in front of the bakery to check the straps of my red platforms.

“I like them,” I said, popping a piece of gum and eyeing my twelve-year-old sister. Somehow, she turned into a bossy old woman whenever she opened her mouth. “Besides, I’m not swimming. I’m sitting at the beach bar. And these make my chubby thighs and big ass look smaller.”

“You are not chubby,” she said, peering greedily at the cakes in the window. “You’re fat.”

Her clear, bright eyes narrowed, daring me to argue. I laughed.

“Thanks. But so that you know, I looked exactly like you at twelve—then Mom’s genes kicked in.”

Her face fell. I bit my lip for being mean to a teen. I never looked like Alex, but the smug little princess didn’t need to know that.

She smirked, reading me better than a book. “Mom genes for sure. I bet the chocolate ice cream kicked in. But what do I know? I’m just a baby.”

That little punk lucked out with a slender frame. I gained a pound just by looking at a cake for more than ten minutes—don’t ask me how I knew that.

“Can I have a cookie?” she asked.

I dug in my bag for change. When I glanced up at the bakery window—where villagers usually pinned lost cat flyers or festival dates—an obituary notice pinned itself into my chest.

My heart did an ugly little thump.

I still couldn’t get around that he died so suddenly.

It was like he might walk out at any moment and invite us to a restaurant or a zoo. Piter Todorov was a mystery to me, but he was a great help and friend from the day our mom was diagnosed with dementia.

I handed Alex the money and watched her go inside, but my eyes stayed glued to the photograph in the window.

No one expected Pit to die. He looked larger than life.

Well, not exactly no one. It seemed that Pit understood the condition of his heart, which was one reason he returned to Mom’s and our lives—to make amends for his past actions and find peace in a better place where he believed he was headed.

I rubbed the corner of my eye. At least he died peacefully. The neighbor who found him said he had one hand under his cheek and a smile on his face.

Alex came back with a paper bag full of cookies and handed me the change.

“What is that?” she asked, crumbs already at the corner of her mouth.

I pushed my hand into the bag to place coins in the small side pocket, and my fingers brushed against a letter from the lawyer’s office—a summons for the reading of Pit’s will that specifically required my presence.

I tousled her dark hair, not sure what to tell her. I was still trying to figure out whether Pit was a hero or a villain in our lives. He left me with more questions than answers.

“Why didn’t we go to Pit’s funeral?” she asked, immersed in the chocolate filling.

I bit my tongue, weighing the words. There was no good way to tell a twelve-year-old that we were not welcome among his real family. Because we didn’t even know he had a real family. That was the trickiest part of Pit’s role in our lives.

He never let us in.

“Because… it was for family only, and we were not his family.” The words tasted like sour milk.

“They’re giving him forty days today,” Alex said, stepping aside to let others into the shop. “Mom says after forty days your hair and nails stop growing, and that’s when you actually die. That’s why people visit graves forty days after the funeral,” she stated proudly.

I rolled my eyes as I cleaned Alex’s hands with wet wipes. Mom really knew how to talk to children. It was the same with me; I could clearly remember the awkward moments in school when teachers couldn’t decide whether to laugh or call for professional help after some of my “insightful” observations.

“You loved him,” Alex said, fixing me with her gaze.

I swallowed a painful lump, feeling the pressure of a secret I promised Mom I wouldn’t tell her yet.

She had Pit’s eyes.

I hadn’t noticed it before because I had no reason to. But ever since I stumbled upon the truth, I couldn’t unsee it. It made sense. We were opposites physically. My strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and soft curves belonged to a different gene pool entirely. Alex was lean, dark, and athletic.

“Mia.” She waved her hand in front of my face, then grabbed my palm. “Come on. Pit’s probably alone today. We can sit by his grave and share cookies.”

I looked at my watch, then down the street toward the bus stop. Was I a weirdo for feeling relieved that my sister changed her mind about the lake? Somehow, in this option, I was choosing a visit to the grave.

“We have to say goodbye to him. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

The guilt hit me harder than the heat. I never kept secrets from Alex, and I hated starting it now with the most important things in her life.

I tried to smile at her small face—the dusty road led up around the church to the graveyard, and we would have to take a shortcut as we were bringing our small, old Chihuahua, Blinkie, with us.

She was lying on the cool tarmac, refusing to take another step.

Alex scooted down and took her in her arms.

“Come on, we don’t have a whole day. Dead people don’t like late visits,” she ordered, and I twisted my lips as more wisdom from Mom left her little mouth.

As we reached the peaceful high ground surrounded by oaks, I took a deep breath, tried to loosen my muscles, adjusted my skirt, and pulled my top higher over my ample chest.

There was no one there except for two workers finishing up a grave not five feet away.

Blinkie growled softly in Alex’s arms. She was an old dog with poor hearing and cataracts, usually content to sleep all day.

As I reached to take her from Alex’s arms, the monastery bells tolled a deep, body-shaking note.

The sound vibrated in my chest. Blinkie flinched, startled by the loud noise she could probably feel in her small, easily alarmed heart.

Before I could react, she shivered, getting on her legs and leaping for safety wherever she thought it might be.

Just a moment before, she was refusing to walk. Now, she sprang up like a puppy athlete—old knees be damned—and bolted across the freshly trimmed green grass.

Well, she didn’t exactly bolt, but even at this speed, I had to run after her.

“Blinkie, no!” Alex yelled as I lunged after the dog. My feet slipping on the dewy grass reminded me of the famous Bambi scene, if Bambi were a bit rounded.

The horizon tilted dangerously as I lost my balance. My ankle gave a sickening twist.

Platform heels were definitely the wrong choice for this kind of activity, but it was too late for regrets.

Blinkie ran directly toward the freshly dug grave.

“Blinkie!” I yelled again, ignoring the sharp flare of pain in my leg and quickening my pace.

Just as I reached for her, she jumped into the air, light as a feather. I could swear she looked back at me, panting a doggy smile, before vanishing into the hole, leaving just a cloud of dirt behind her.

Shocked, I tried to stop myself at the edge of the enormous hole, but the moment for backing out was lost.

The only thing that could be heard across the lonely cemetery was my cursing as I plummeted down, bracing myself for a painful landing.

***

October 3, 2025.

Welcome to my new story. I can't quite explain how I feel after such a long break—probably like I've never written before :)

I will update at least three times a week, sometimes more :)

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All the best, Mira.: