Memories.

A pause. A stare. And the water came running out like a dam broke free. The air changed as if holding its breath, desperately waiting for the memories to surface.

Just one: she begged. Eyes pleaded like she'd break down if more than one memory hit her nerve.

She stepped forward. Two steps away from the first picture that hung on the almost faded painted wall. The first ever competition she had gone to with her mother after her father's early demise.

The first memory hit her nerve. Her body shuddered.

Running. The rhythmic thud of her feet on the soil of the earth before the world dissolved into a blur. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her body ached. Her lungs burned. Her feet screamed. But her soul. It was on fire!

It pushed her forward. She felt the spirit in her soul driving her whole being forward like it owned her very body. It was a resurrection. Electrifying as if she were in her Papa arms when she was 4 on a winter morning being tossed in the air and back with giggles and laughter.

Her eyes stung. But her feet didn't flatter. Instead, it ignited the spirit in her soul. She ran until the world ended at the finish line.

Then came the roar of the crowd before she felt those familiar hands on her body. Her sanctuary. Her mother's breath on her skin,kissing every part of her as if to ease every pain in her body. And it did.

"Oh my baby," the voice whispered.

"Mama," she gasped. Clinging onto her mom's arms tightly like she was the only solid land in her life.

"You did good, Chanel. You did so well, my brave star. I am so proud of you." Her mom had said, kissing her more.

The memory faded away before she could venture deeper.

Her legs moved closer to the picture before she could blink. Her hand found the exact place she wanted to touch despite the clouded tears that had taken hold of her once clear eyes.

Blinking back the tears, she touched the face of the woman who had given her life. She saw her younger self in the picture. Smiling so brightly despite losing her dad a few years ago. She had been proud. For she knew who she did it for. Her daddy. He had served the country and died in action a few weeks after she turned four. And Chanel had mourned him.

Pushed herself from almost all fun activities except schooling. Despite that, her Mother— God bless her soul.

Despite the fact that she was mourning her husband, she still had the courage to make sure her daughter went to school. Though Chanel had refused to join any race competition or be in any form of exercise.

It hurts. Everything reminded her so much of her dad. And she was angry. He had always found time to train with her. He was her muse. He brought out the spirit of racing in her. But now, he is gone. He promised he'd be with her, but...

Lifting her face up, she tried to push off the thoughts. She had never healed.

The school hallway became a gauntlet. The bullies’ eyes spoke before their mouths did, “Where's your daddy, Chanel?” Did he run away from your world?” Their voices snickered.

Their words fuelled her anger as she retreated into a shell of silence. Her defiance grew especially toward her running shoes and the track race.

Her silence grew as each passing day turned to months. At first, her mother had thought it was the grief. But then, she found out about the bullies.

Her mother didn't just report the bullies but became her shield.

But that had not been enough for Chanel. The bullies’ words still echoed in her mind. It tore her soul.

But her mother didn't give up. Never on her child. It took time, but she had taken herself from the grieving state and focused solely on her. Taking her on trips. Shielded her. Loved her fiercely.

And just by a fraction, Chanel's heart melted. She and her mother started visiting her father's grave more. Talking to him there as if he were still very much alive. She'd see her favorite chocolate, sweets, and gifts at the foot of his grave when she and her mother came visiting. And Chanel had known. She knew her mother brought them but would follow suit and believed her father had gotten them.

It was sweet. It was a bitter-sweet pain and moments together.

And one day. Her mother had said to her.

"Be strong. Be courageous. Stand tall. And never let what people have rob you of what you have”.

Chanel had picked up racing again. Visioning her father training by her side. Cheering her on. Cautioning her. Blowing kisses in the air around her. It was fun. Fascinating. Something only she had. She cherished it.

She never let anyone mock her for not having a father. She has a mother. And she wasn't alone.

And she had gone to her first ever competition without her father. And she had won.

It was a beautiful moment for her and her mother. And a lot more moments like that came forth.

Memories. Happy one. Kept her and her mother at hip.

As years passed. Chanel had stopped going to competitions. Instead, she and her mother had bought a big space to train children all around. A sports center. It was big, huge,and not only carried her father's name. But his legacy.

Chanel had coached and spent the rest of the time with her mother. But then, health challenges came.

At 18, the death roll of cancer had claimed her mother.

Stage 3 cancer.

The hospital corridor became her new home. She watched her mother wither under the fierce attack of surgeries and radiation. Chanel had cried her eyes out. Begged, prayed, and screamed at the heavens.

A flickering moment of hope flapped its wings—moment the world smiled on them again—but it was fleeting.

When the end came. It was peaceful. Chanel had found her mother in the morning looking beautiful. And in her hands was her father's picture. She looked relieved. And on her lips was a ghost smile that screams— Home.

Chanel had wanted to follow suit. But she couldn't. Despite the fact that they were gone. Their spirit still comforted her. Like they never left.

So, she had mourned them. Stayed off the house for years. But now she is back. But not alone. She had come with her family for vacation.

"Mommy, Mommy! Stephanie wouldn't stop kicking me. I have tried being a gentleman, but it is not working on her." Allen, her son, had called out with a small box in his hands.

A hand sneaked around her waist and kissed her face, knowing she had been crying. "Baby," her husband, Alex's voice whispered gently in her ears, and Chanel had hugged him tighter.

"We will be fine,” he had said. And she believed him.

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