Grin

When asked, "What are you doing here, Monica?" It was a question I posed to her.

Monica slapped her before she could even respond.

Saying, "How dare you treat mom like that!"

To answer, "I didn't do anything."

To which the respondent replies, "Oh, you didn't say something bad about her, huh?"

She shouldn't have followed in your footsteps here.

The atmosphere was tense.

Her eyes started to flood up with tears.

I feel your rage rising to the surface as I stand there in disbelief, starring at her. She is falsely accusing me of wrongdoing and seems quite pleased with herself while doing it.

My hands tighten at my sides as I sense the acceleration of your heartbeat. I feel like it's not right that she immediately blamed me without investigating other alternatives. I'm not guilty, but she acts like she doesn't believe me.

My frustration with her increases the longer she talks. I feel like screaming and lashing out at her to make her realize how baseless and cruel her accusations are. But I'm smart enough to know that won't help. In an effort to relax, I take a big breath.

No matter how hard you try, you just can't shake the feeling of betrayal. You're talking to a member of your own family, your sister, and she's treating you like an enemy. You feel like someone slapped you across the face, and the pain and disappointment that has sunk into your chest won't go away.

As you walk away from her poisonous comments, you can't help but ruminate on what went wrong. You used to be close, but now there's a huge chasm between you, and you have no idea if it's even possible to get back together. What you do know is that you will not allow her false allegations to alter your opinion of her or your status in her eyes.

I was sitting in her room and my mind kept going back to her. She knew their relationship was tense, but things had gotten worse recently. Her sister avoided her at every turn, and whenever they did talk, the atmosphere was fraught.

I was perplexed as to why her sibling disliked her. Why did they turn out so differently? Did she do something to trigger this? She was perplexed and upset, and she wanted answers about what was going on.

As she gave it more attention, she saw that it wasn't about her alone. The way her sister acted was the result of her own unique combination of experiences, emotions, and perspectives. Perhaps she was dealing with issues unrelated to their friendship with Braxton.

I started to put myself in her sister's shoes, and it helped me feel more sympathetic and understanding toward her. It dawned on me that while it was not her job to win over her sister, at least she could treat her with compassion and empathy. I took initiative and reached out to her sister, telling her I was available for her if she ever needed to talk. I have to be the larger person despite the fact that she is a skanky piece of work.

The situation was still challenging, but the girl felt at peace with herself because she was doing what she could to help her half-sister.

*

It took Braxton weeks to finally get in touch with me. He wanted to make my dad a proposal. John had just started working for a record label, and he saw my dad as a way to make a name for himself.

We were no longer connected, but I can't figure out why Braxton keeps doing this; I'm sure I'm still on his mind more often than anyone else. He was sorry that he had hurt her. But what possesses him to have such a notion? Memory escaped him.

When we eventually connected, he asked if he might drop over to discuss a potential record deal.

The next day, Braxton showed up to her house with a stack of documents and a pitch, to which I grudgingly accepted. I interrupted him just as he started to elaborate on his plan.

I'm grateful for the offer, but neither my dad nor I are interested in signing with your record label. I told him, "He's fine performing local shows and he doesn't need the pressure of being signed to a large label.

He was let down, but he could see why.

"I get it. All I wanted to do was give him the chance. "Well, I suppose I should get going," he remarked, rising from his chair.

I met his gaze, and her eyes softened. "Braxton, wait," she commanded, getting to her feet and approaching him.

I looked at him with a sigh of despair and sadness. "Nothing."

He conceded and nodded his head. I'm leaving immediately. He apologized for disturbing you and got up to leave.

I felt sad as he left my house and I watched him go. I wished there was an easy solution to their problems, but I was right. Perhaps it was time to embrace the fact that life doesn't always turn out the way we plan it.

*

I had spent several years crafting her sound, giving each song a piece of her soul. She had played innumerable open mics and paid engagements in pursuit of a broader audience. The time has come, at last.

Her newest single "marked" came out a few weeks ago and has been steadily growing in popularity since then. However, its popularity skyrocketed virtually overnight. It was now being played on radio stations nationwide, and it appeared like the topic of conversation amongst everyone.

The amount of support was mind-boggling to me. I knew she had hoped to make it big someday, but I never imagined it would be this soon. A sea of shouting fans awaited me as I took the stage for her first major concert.

They all crammed into the arena, shouting her name and waving signs. As she scanned the crowd of people before her, I felt a wave of astonishment wash over me.

I sat down with my guitar and strummed out the intro of "Marked." I could feel the adrenaline pumping through her as the crowd cheered.

I imagined she was soaring as I sang. The music came freely from her, and I could hear the depth of her feelings in each note. The crowd was cheering her on, too. They swayed and waved their arms and sang along with every word.

It was totally unique and unlike anything else in my life. It seemed to me that the music was uniting everyone in the audience and making her feel like she was a part of something greater than herself.

The crowd started cheering again as I concluded the song. I was speechless as they yelled for an encore. My confidence was over the roof, and I broke into a broad grin.

After that, the applause just kept coming and coming while I played a couple more songs. And with that, it was finished. After receiving a thunderous applause, I felt like I was floating off the stage.

People were touching me as I made my way through the crowd, telling me how much they appreciated my music. I had the impression that she was dreaming.

It wasn't until she was alone in her hotel room that she realized how serious the situation was. She was finally there. Her songs had a profound effect on listeners and helped bring people closer together. Moreover, she couldn't have asked for anything else.

*

Without my supporters, none of this would be possible. I had no idea that escaping my background would turn out to be the best decision of my life. I morphed into the idealized version of myself. The type of person I aspired to be. I'm not who other people expect me to be.

The fact that my supporters made it possible made it that much better. I had no idea they'd connect with my music. to the emotions I'm feeling and the needs I have.

I had no idea they would treat me with such warmth when I arrived. Despite Braxton's attempts to sue me for breach of contract, I was able to continue working with him and make the necessary changes. Since his memory loss prevented him from recognizing our possession of the item. He merely assumed I was his secretary. Specifically, his secretary who fancied herself his expert on the art of flirtation.

Now since we're working together on a record, he offered my dad a record deal, too, even though he knew dad wouldn't take it. He doesn't need to involve my dad in this; he already wants what's best for us, and the contract is enough on its own.

My mother tried to make amends, but when things didn't go as she'd hoped, she blamed me, saying to Monica that I had yelled and been unpleasant to her. Despite the fact that this is not true.

It was a typical Friday night, and I was playing her newest tunes at my favorite dive pub. She had developed a dedicated following of fervent but polite supporters.

Tonight, though, was an exception. The excitement in the audience was palpable the moment I went onto the stage. I noticed that the crowd was noisier and more tense than usual.

The audience pressed in closer as she started singing. I tried to keep my calm for her, but the crowd's intense staring and pressing against her was too much.

I made a move to push past, but someone grabbed her arm from behind. I was shocked to see her being dragged off the stage and into the corner of the pub.

"Are you feeling okay?" I turned at the sound of a male voice and saw an unknown man standing in her path.

As she caught her breath, I nodded. She said, "Thanks," as best she could. What possessed them, I have no idea.

The man gave her a pitying glance. "Some people get carried away," he remarked. "But that's not something you should have to put up with."

He reached out a hand and assisted her in standing up. I was relieved to hear him say, "Let me get you out of here," and I nodded in agreement.

They finally made it through the crowd, and I could see the relief on her face. With the man there, I knew she was safe, and I was thankful for his assistance.

He flagged down a taxi for her outside the bar and accompanied her inside. I took a seat back, feeling a range of feelings. I was frightened, but I appreciated the man's generosity.

As they drove off, I yelled out, "Thank you," one more.

The guy flashed her a grin. To which I said, "No problem," and he agreed. I'm relieved to hear that you're safe.

I kept thinking about what had transpired as they drove through the city. She had always been aware that fame brought its own risks, but she had never imagined they would affect her personally.

But when I saw the man next to him, I knew that the world still had some wonderful individuals. And I appreciated it very much.