Chapter 7

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Translations:

"gosse" is French for "kid"

"mon cher" is French for "my dear"

"-ah" is a Korean honorific used with someone who is close in age/younger than you

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--Flashback--

"Cherisse. Cherisse, love. Honey, can you wake up?"

My eyelids fluttered, and bright artificial light infiltrated my eyes. I blinked twice to clear the sleep and crusty tears from my eyes. My back ached from sleeping across two stiff plastic chairs in the waiting room, and I had a headache from crying myself to sleep last night, but those were the least of my worries.

"Is everything okay, nurse?" I asked, my voice hoarse and crackly as I sit up slowly. My small hand rubbed any lingering tiredness from my eyes.

Her brown eyes were flooded with sympathy. "Dear, I don't even know how to tell you this, but your grandfather passed away a few minutes ago."

"W-what?" I knew what she was saying, but I didn't know how to comprehend it.

"We believe his wife's death was too much for his heart to handle, and a few minutes ago, it simply stopped."

"But why?" Tears began to sting my eyes and tickle my cheeks innocently as the news of my grandpa's death sunk in. "Why is everything being taken from me, nurse? Who would let this happen?"

The nurse knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. "Death is a part of life, sweetheart. It is very saddening that you have to experience it so early."

I closed my eyes to stop the flow of any more tears. At that point, after everything had been taken from me, I wondered what I had left that was worth living for.

"Why am I alive while everyone that ever loved me is dead?"

"God works in strange ways. It may seem like his actions are inexplicable, but good can always come out of suffering and grief."

I shook my head. "There is no God; at least, not one who cares about me."

Grandpa and Grandma's funerals were combined into one – exactly what they would have wanted. I was not asked to speak because everyone thought I was too young to understand what was happening. I remember thinking I was the only one who knew what was happening. I did not mourn their deaths – I only mourned the loss of the only living relatives who cared about me and reminded me that a little bit of my parents lived on. A week after the funeral, I moved in with my aunt in Paris.

The door popped open in front of me, and I stumbled backward, hiding behind my second cousin, George. An attractive young woman with an hourglass figure stood in the doorway with an impatient hand on her hip.

"Well, is this the gosse I have to deal with for the next eight years?" she demanded in a foreign language. I looked towards George for a translation, but he only set his jaw and placed a protective hand on my shoulder.

"She is your niece, Clara. You have an obligation to take care of her as you would your daughter."

"My daughter has my love." Her sharp gaze fell to me. "Not her." I didn't know what she was saying, but I cowered further behind George.

"You are the only living relative she has with the ability and welfare to take care of her."

"She will be a reminder of what happened to my sister. How am I expected to love her?"

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