Bound

Chapter 1 - Coming of Age

It's February 28th today—the last day of winter and my birthday. Funny enough, I only really celebrate it once every four years, because I was born on February 29th. My phone's ringing woke me up, and since it's February 28th, I'm already getting birthday messages in advance. The first one is, of course, from my best friend, Riley.

"Caroline Swan, happy 18th birthday! How are you feeling?"

"I feel great—apart from the fact that my best friend calls me at 9 AM on a Saturday..." I sighed deeply and blinked my eyes open.

"I woke you at nine so that you'd have more time to plan how to celebrate today."

"I'm not planning anything." I closed my eyes again and buried my head in my pillow.

"Caroline! No excuses—this is your 18th. You only turn adult like this once!" I can imagine the look on her face—classic Riley. I love her to bits.

"Fine, I'll think of something...once I'm properly awake."

"Get up already. Sleep will come later, when you're old."

After Riley, a few close friends, casual pals, and acquaintances all sent birthday wishes. Even though I don't have tons of friends, birthday messages roll in from all over. Maybe they just love the idea of winter ending—or maybe it's me. I do love winter. Not because of my birthday, but because everything feels calmer, purer... quieter. Weird, maybe, but true.

Despite the draw of my warm bed, I forced myself up—and by precisely 9:36, I was awake.

The moment I stepped out of my room, an irresistible smell hit me. My mom hadn't skipped the family tradition: a birthday pizza. I closed my eyes, savoring the mix of pepperoni and cheese.

"What a beautiful day—such bright sunshine—because my baby is turning eighteen," she greeted me, glowing and smiling, pulling me into a big hug. I could feel her breathing deeply. It must've hit her then: her daughter isn't so little anymore.

I love my mom. Sure, every kid loves their mom, but for me it's special. We're so close that sometimes I forget she's 27 years older than I am.

She isn't just kind—she's... complicated. Warm, friendly, and positive, even on bad days. But when I watch her in quiet moments, I sense a loneliness so deep it hurts. All wells from my dad. I don't even call him that—I never had a real father. Just mentioning his name irritates me more than calling him dad.

They met through mutual friends. She was 21, smitten instantly by his looks. A month later, she married him. Of course, her family objected—they thought she'd have a brighter future without him. They were right. Seven years later, after I was born, things fell apart. He started drinking, and as the drinking deepened, so did betrayal, job loss... all the things that destroy families. No one knows why. I once joked it was my birth that set it off—but she always warned me not to blame myself. Still, life unraveled seven years after I arrived. Why seven years? Maybe they delayed kids for careers or maybe they never planned kids—who knows? After he left, Mum never got serious with anyone again. She rarely talked about her personal life—it's like the past still haunts her. Sometimes I remember a man appearing here when I was around four or five. He looked a lot like Dad, and I'd wonder if he'd come back for her. When I turned seven, Mum drifted into herself—she barely left the house and threw all her attention on me. It didn't work out, and at thirty-four, she's become a devoted, single mother with a quiet heart.

I shook away the sad thoughts and dove into my pizza.

"So? Is it good?" Mom raised an eyebrow, expecting my honest answer.

"It's perfection—just the kind only Sophie's magic hands can bake." She beamed, soaking in my praise.

"Enjoy it while it lasts—I have to go now. Let me know what you decide."

"Okay, Mum. Love you."

She kissed my forehead before I left, wished me a wonderful day, and went off to work.

Though it's Saturday, it isn't a day off for her. Since my dad left, things have been tough. Even with just the two of us, Riga's expensive. She works two jobs—half the day as a nurse, the other half as a babysitter—trying to provide for my university plans and everything else. That's why I admire her so much, and why I want to succeed—not just for me, but for her.

So here I am on my birthday. The day started with celebratory pizza but ended up lonely. "Moments wandering around the house," I thought—no cinema trip could distract me. Time slipped by, and suddenly it was 11:59 AM. Riley's been waiting for me to call her, expecting news of a grand party with tons of teens and cute guys. I'd love that—to escape my problems for a bit. But money's tight; I can't afford even a small party. So this birthday is on my own. Happy 18th birthday, Caroline—my inner voice mocked.

After scrolling my phone and overthinking, I realized this can't go on. I need to find a job—something—before I start my journalism career in earnest. I love my university faculty and the doors journalism offers, but—I know every big career starts small. So I decided I'd do something—babysit or wait tables—even a basic part-time job would help my family.

I moved to my room to get ready. I picked simple black trousers and a white blouse, added a black vest, and slipped on my heels. From my drawer, I pulled the little turquoise necklace—my talisman, and it complements my blue eyes. I brushed my long dark hair and looked at myself in the mirror—then nodded. I liked what I saw. It's not much, but I'm grateful. Some don't even have this much.

Pocketing my favorite perfume and my bag, I headed to the door—and as I stepped out, I felt it: hope. Despite everything—struggle, loneliness, hardship—I felt like today, something different might begin. Maybe this is my turning point—the start of a new, grown-up chapter, full of unexpected adventures.