Curated collection of one shots submitted to romance story contests on Wattpad including Cupid sending an arrow accidentally at a despicable suitor, meeting the man of your dreams in your dreams, and that one time Aphrodite stole the Sphinx from Her...
Prompt: Panic Writing Contest. In 500 words or less share a story centered around the power of confronting one's fears during a transitional period in life.
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"Be home by five, okay? Love you."
"Babe, you're peaky and your lips look slightly blue. Promise me you'll get checked out!"
"I can't. Tomorrow. I don't have time."
"Marco!"
The warning injected into my voice did zilch to dissuade him. He kissed the corner of my scowl. "You can text me later to yell at me. I love you!"
Unfazed by my glare, Marco shot me his famous smile while his car roared to life, and I gave in, chasing him down. His messy curls were soft as I raked my hand through and firmly kissed him goodbye. He reversed down our driveway while I pointed to my eye, heart, then him before hiking back indoors.
My day crawled with graduate program lectures until my first real break on the lunch hour. As I neared the window of the rust-colored brick building, my phone caught service.
📱 MARCO Hi Peaches! 😘 Fucking NAILED the meeting!
I beamed at the selfie of my husband accompanying his text when a slew of voicemails from unrecognizable numbers poured in.
Wanting to hear his voice instead of texting, I called Marco first. My heart skittered to a stop at the frantic tone on the other end. "Is this Sierra?"
***************************
I hated every single fucking second of his memorial service. And all the days thereafter. Guilt crushed me as his tight-knit family arrived in Texas. They didn't get their last minute goodbye kiss.
I was a shell of a human, unable to offer much. I summoned every ounce of courage to FaceTime his parents months later, explaining my plans of moving to Michigan. We eloped at age twenty-two on our way back from Christmas break in his Californian hometown. Our cozy life together in Austin was over.
I was scared to death of moving on, but I was brokenhearted with what he left behind. Just me.
No words can do justice to the miracle of holding my nephew Elijah for the first time. My brother and his wife grieved the loss of Eli's twin, and I meekly inquired whether my spending a day with him in the NICU would be helpful.
The garish lighting of the hospital triggered horrible memories that morning. Marco's health scares. My miscarriage at eighteen.
The ambiance in the NICU was warm, but I wasn't prepared while Eli's eyes focused on mine. While machines whirred and chatter carried on, I drowned under an evocative wave.
They say some eyes can touch you more than fingertips ever could. They're right.
I held Eli on my chest, weeping on and off for hours, pouring my heart out in whispers. He was the first therapist I could ever trust, and I never missed one session from when he was born to when he was released.
Life became managable. Sweeter. One day, I reread the goodbye letter Marco left in our safety deposit box, and even while tears streamed, I realized I could breathe again.
