~MONA'S POV~

Oak Haven was nothing like the cities in the movies.

There were no tall buildings like skyscrapers piercing into the clouds nor horns blaring in traffic jams, and no neon lights buzzing late into the night. Instead, the sky stretched open and wide, like a blanket of soft blue peace. The street was more like a graveyard and the houses creaked as it stood with porches and wind chimes that sang when the breeze rolled in. Everyone smiled too easily, waved too often, and asked questions with a little too much interest.

It felt... strange. Almost fake.

But for some reason, my mom loved it here.

“I got the job, baby!” she’d cried the day we arrived, her eyes watery and bright. “The bakery on Fifth! Mrs. Granger said she liked my coconut rolls!”

I remembered clearly, I kept blinking at her, still holding the last box from our old apartment. “Really?”

"Of course! We are going to be alright!" She said, hugging to the point I gasped for breath.

And she meant it. Every morning she left early, her apron tied at the back, her sneakers worn but determined. Every evening she came home humming old songs she used to sing before... before everything went dark in our old home.

Back when Dad was still around.

The city we stayed in wasn't quiet, but for us it was and that quiet was sacred. It meant no more slamming of the doors, no broken bottles, and no shouting at midnight, No more waking up to the sound of fists meeting flesh and the stench of whiskey on the carpet. It really felt good.

“I love your hair, Mom,” I told her one morning as she braided it in front of the mirror, it had grown fuller, longer and more alive-Just like her.

She smiled softly, catching my eyes in the mirror. “Thanks, sweetie. Haven’t had much reason to take care of it before.”

We both knew what she meant, and we didn’t have to say it.

I hadn’t heard the word “useless” in months. It used to cling to me like a second skin.

“Useless girl.”

“Useless woman.”

“Can’t do anything right.”

“Just like your mother.”

But now… it was quiet.

There was a garden behind our tiny rented house. Mom planted flowers. I sat there sometimes, watching the wind ruffle the petals, thinking about the future I never thought I’d have.

I had just graduated from high school a month ago. My old guidance counselor, Mrs. Levin used to say, “Dream small, Mona. It’ll hurt less when it doesn’t work out.”

But now, in Oak Haven, I could dream big.

“Have you checked the college website?” Mom asked one night, sitting at the small kitchen table, scribbling figures into her budgeting notebook.

I nodded, pulling out my phone. “Yeah. I think I can apply this week.”

She looked up, her eyes lighting with pride. “You’ve been saving every penny from the diner job. I’m so proud of you.”

I shrugged, suddenly shy. “It’s not enough yet. But if you sell more of your cinnamon rolls—”

“Hey,” she said firmly, reaching across, squeezing my hands softly. “You’re going to college. One way or another. Even if I have to bake every single day until my arms fall off.”

I laughed, blinking fast. “Don’t lose your arms, Mom. I kinda need you whole.”

She chuckled too, but then she looked at me with that same fierce love that used to make her endure the worst days and still pack my lunch. “You’re not going to be stuck anymore. I promise.”

That night, I looked out of the window, staring at the sleepy village.

The neighbors waved too much. The mailman greeted us by name. Mrs. Lottie from across the street always left cookies by our door with sticky notes that read: “For the sweet girls.”

It all felt... surreal. Like maybe it could vanish if I blinked too long.

But it didn’t.

Day after day, the peace stayed.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t surviving. I was living.

“College is coming,” I whispered to myself as I tucked my acceptance letter under my pillow, still unread by Mom. I wanted to surprise her once I figured out the financial part.

There was a knock at the door. I opened it and found Mr. Cole, the postman, smiling. “Heard about your acceptance, kid. Congratulations.”

He handed me a small envelope. Inside was a fifty-dollar bill and a card that simply said, “Go get the future you deserve.”

Oak Haven wasn’t perfect.

But it was ours.

And for once, I believed that was enough.

I was really about to start college.

It felt surreal, more like waking up in a dream you had been too scared to believe in for so long.

I wasn’t aiming to change the world. I didn’t want to cure cancer or design flying cars. I just wanted a normal life. A place to learn, to breathe, to finally be something beyond “that girl with the broken family.” I wanted to go to classes, sip terrible coffee in libraries, maybe even fall in love—nothing more, nothing less.

Just… normal. That was all I ever wanted.

I held on tightly to the admission letter in my hand for hours before I summoned the courage to tell her. My palms were wet and my heart was leaping. It was about to burst out of its rib cage.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, peeling apples for one of her famous pies. The late afternoon sun pierced through the window, casting a glow across her face. She looked younger these days, more lighter. At last, the pains of the past finally loosened its grip on her.

“Mom?” I called out carefully and softly, afraid my voice might crack.

She looked up, eyes warm, and a smile ready. “Hmm?”

I walked over and placed the letter in front of her. “I got in.”

Her hands froze mid-peel. Her eyes scanned the paper, and her mouth slowly opened. “You… you got in?”

“Yeah,” My voice low, tears already stinging my eyes. “I... I'm going to college Mom.”

She covered her mouth with both hands, and for a second, I saw a brief moment of the woman she used to be, the one who used to sing lullabies to submerge me out of the yelling, who once held me in the bathtub because there was nowhere else to go.

Then, she laughed. And cried. And hugged me all at once.

“My baby… my sweet, brilliant girl.” She cupped my face, her cheeks wet. “I knew it. I always knew it.”

“I didn’t,” I confessed, my voice shaking. “I didn’t think I’d make it. I didn’t think we’d get this far.”

“But we did,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to mine. “We did.”

That night, we danced in the tiny kitchen to an old song from her teenage years, barefoot on the cold tiles, giggling like we were drunk on hope. She made meat pies and lemonade. We didn’t have much, but we celebrated like we had everything.

And truthfully? We did.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” I asked her the next morning as we folded my clothes into the thrifted suitcase we’d bought from the church store.

She gave me a mock glare. “Aria, I’m not eighty.”

“I know, but…” I hesitated. “You’re all I’ve had.”

She smiled and brushed over a strand of my hair from my face. “ It's time for you to have more, my princess.”

I looked out the window. The neighbors waved from their porches. Mrs. Lottie shouted “Congratulations!” while balancing a tray of brownies. My mom had made friends faster than I ever could. She was beloved here—respected and cared for. She finally had her own life.

And maybe that was the most comforting thing of all.

“You’ll come home on holidays,” she said. “And I’ll send you food in ridiculous quantities. And when you graduate, I’ll be the woman in the front row screaming your name like a lunatic.”

I laughed through my tears. “Deal.”

As the bus pulled up a week later and I turned to wave one last time, she didn’t cry. Only a smile radiated in her beautiful face and with pride, she blew me a kiss.

And just like that… The very life I had only dared to imagine was what I stepped into.