Chapter 8: Burdens We Carry
1063 Words
Chapter 8: Burdens We Carry
The sun was already streaming through the curtains when Amara woke up. Her head pounded and her throat felt dry, like she had swallowed dust. She groaned, rolling over, but froze when she saw the folded note on her bedside table, right next to a glass of water and two aspirin.
She blinked, sat up slowly, and picked up the note with trembling fingers.
You don’t have to carry everything alone. —R
Her heart sank. Last night came back in fragments—the bar, Trixie’s voice, shots, stumbling… Jiro? And then… Rafael.
“Oh no,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. “What did I say?”
Her stomach twisted with dread. She could feel the ghost of her drunken words.
You hurt me so much by liking my best friend... because I love you... and I love her.
“What the hell, Amara,” she muttered.
She downed the aspirin and water, then swung her legs off the bed. Her body felt heavy, but her heart felt worse.
Later that afternoon, Amara made her way to the Ramos house for the scheduled check-up. It was a Saturday—no work, no emails, just her and the weight of her promise.
Elena welcomed her with a warm hug and ushered her inside.
“You look tired, sweetheart,” she said.
“I didn’t sleep well,” Amara admitted.
The doctors were already upstairs, examining Caleb. Amara followed Elena into the sunlit kitchen where tea was already brewing.
“I’ve been thinking more about the wedding,” Elena said gently, handing her a cup. “I think… we should move forward with the plan.”
Amara looked up. “Already?”
“I’d like it to happen within three months.”
Three months, she's really serious about what she said last time.
Elena continued, “It’s not just the marriage, dear. Once you’re legally bound, you’ll be able to make decisions for him. And it would mean so much to Caleb to have you here full time. We’ve waited so long for hope.”
Amara nodded, but inside her chest, something shifted.
Hope, she thought. But whose?
Jenny passed through the hallway as Amara went upstairs to visit Caleb. Their eyes met, and Jenny gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’re early,” Jenny said.
“I wanted to be here for the check-up.”
“Right,” Jenny replied. She paused, then added with a touch of sarcasm, “You’re getting comfortable here.”
Amara ignored the jab and continued toward Caleb’s room.
Inside, the doctors were quietly taking notes. Caleb remained still, his breathing steady but unchanged. Amara sat down beside him, her fingers brushing the back of his hand.
“Hi,” she whispered. “It’s me again.”
The room was silent, only the soft beeping of machines filled the space.
She leaned forward, speaking more softly. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I wish you’d wake up and tell me if this is what you want.”
Behind her, Jenny lingered for a moment in the doorway before walking away.
Back at work the next week, Amara found herself sitting across from Trixie in the company breakroom.
“You remember anything from the other night?” Trixie asked, sipping her iced coffee.
Amara groaned. “Only that I said the worst possible thing to Rafael.”
Trixie leaned in. “What did you say?”
“That I love him. And Ysabel.”
Trixie choked on her drink. “What?”
“I didn’t mean it like that! I just—when Rafael liked her, it hurt. Because she was my best friend and I loved her too, but in a different way. It just felt like I was losing both of them.”
“Girl,” Trixie said, half-laughing, half-serious. “You’re living a love triangle and a ghost marriage at the same time.”
Amara slumped in her chair. “Thanks for that.”
Trixie grew serious. “Look, you don’t have to go through with anything just because it was someone else’s dream. You get to choose too.”
“I wish I believed that.”
“You should.”
On Sunday, Amara stopped by the grocery store near her place. She was halfway through the aisle of canned soups when she spotted a familiar figure at the end of the row.
Rafael.
He hadn’t seen her yet. He was holding a box of cereal, staring at it like he was trying to solve an equation.
She considered walking the other way.
But instead, she stepped forward.
“Hi.”
Rafael turned, surprised. “Hey.”
They stood awkwardly in the aisle, surrounded by soup and cornflakes.
Amara looked at the floor. “About what I said… in the car…”
He raised his hand gently. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I do,” she insisted. “I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Were you lying?”
She paused. “No.”
Rafael looked down at the cereal box. “Then I’m glad you said it. Even if it hurt.”
Silence fell between them.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I keep trying to do the right thing. But I don’t even know what that is anymore.”
He looked up at her, softer now. “Then maybe start by doing what feels right for you. Not anyone else.”
She nodded slowly, then excused herself and walked away. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
That evening, Jenny sat alone in her room. The lights were off, only the moonlight filtered in through the window. In her hands was a photo of her and Caleb, taken on the day he was adopted.
They were both smiling. Caleb had his arm around her shoulders.
Jenny brushed her thumb over his face. Her jaw trembled.
“I won’t let her take you,” she whispered. “Not when I’ve loved you this long.”
She tucked the photo away and stood up, her eyes shining with something colder now.
Meanwhile, across town, Rafael’s phone buzzed.
A message from Ysabel.
Can we talk? I need to tell you something. About Amara.
- Writer
