...Richard's POV...
"If you're here, I suppose it's because you've already found her."
"Actually, sir, I haven't found her yet. I wish I had good news, but it's as if she disappeared off the face of the earth." Clarens speaks nervously.
"Disappeared? Is that the answer you're giving me? Because that's an answer that doesn't justify your salary."
"S-Sir... I..."
"You"? Allow me to speak for you since apparently you can't even do that. You're an incompetent person whose responsibilities I stripped away to assign you one task, finding that little thief, and even then you haven't done it.
"Sir, I have done everything possible to locate her, but it's just that..."
"But it seems I'll have to call the CIA or the FBI. They surely have nothing more important to do because you're so incompetent that even with the necessary resources, you can't find a needle in a haystack."
"Hey, interrupting again?" Larry, my best friend, asks as he enters without being announced. It's a bad habit he has adopted, and I no longer complain since he's the only person who cares little or nothing about what I say.
"Yes, but I suppose it doesn't matter." I respond curtly, to which he simply shrugs, reaffirming that I'm right.
"S-Sir..." Clarens, my assistant, speaks again.
"You may leave. I want results, and I want them now. So stop doing what's possible and start doing the impossible. Maybe then you'll deliver results to me."
"As you wish, sir." After these last words, he rushes out.
"Wow, what a temper! I assume from the way you treat poor Clarens that you still haven't found your thief."
I sigh in frustration.
"No, I haven't found her, and she's not"my thief"either."
"Oh, really?"
"No, she's just a thief."
"Why don't you just let it go and move on with your life?"
"I don't want to. Nobody takes what belongs to me and gets away with it."
"I really don't understand why you give so much importance to a simple phone that you replaced in less than twenty minutes."
"It's not about that. That girl mocked me, looked me in the eyes. I bet she was internally laughing at me, and that's something I won't tolerate."
"You're right, that and the fact that she has the audacity to invade your dreams and drive you crazy in bed. That's just too much." He smiles mockingly as he speaks. I'm an idiot; only I would think of sharing with him, amidst drinks, that I've dreamt about her on more than one occasion.
"Stop talking nonsense. Don't you have anything more interesting to do than to disrupt my work schedule? Unlike you, I actually have things to do."
"Too bad you can only do them in dreams because the thief slipped away."
"Get out of here."
"Oh, so touchy. I think it's better for me to go. It seems like you're having one of your bad days."
"Please, lock the door behind you. You see, there's always some reckless person who enters without being announced."
"You just hurt my feelings... whatever, I don't care." He laughs and leaves, closing the door behind him.
I will find you, little thief, and you'll regret ever crossing my path.
...POV: Chanel...
It has been three months since we arrived in England, and although it pains me deeply to admit it, my mother hasn't responded satisfactorily to the treatment. Her health is deteriorating more and more. I haven't been able to find a better-paying job, and on top of that, I have to endure the harassment from my boss's son. But the worst part is that our savings are running out. My mother and I live in a small one-bedroom apartment, sharing a not-so-big bed. She insists that I won't sleep on the couch, which I'm grateful for. I like sleeping in my mother's arms. I don't know when...
"Chanel, my daughter, eat something. You've lost a lot of weight in the past few days."
"I'm not hungry, Mommy."
"Please eat something, do it for me."
"Okay, it's impossible to say no to you." My mother looks at me and smiles. I do the same while struggling to eat some food. Seeing my mother, the only thing I have in life, wearing a headscarf to cover her hair loss and noticing how thin she is, her pronounced dark circles, and, worst of all, feeling her cry at night, trying not to let me know she's suffering from the pain caused by that damn bone cancer. It reminds me that, like her, I must appear strong to make her pitiful life more bearable.
"Chanel, I've been thinking, and I want to go back to the United States."
"To the United States?" I ask, surprised.
"Yes, that's what I desire the most. I want to spend the remaining time in my own home."
"Mama, please don't give up." Tears start streaming down my face uncontrollably.
"I'm not giving up, I'm just accepting reality." She reaches out her hand to wipe my tears. "You should do the same. It will make the moment of parting easier. Besides, we'll be surrounded by people who love us. Please, don't say no to your mother." My hand rests on hers, which is now caressing my face, holding onto it tightly.
"Alright, I will talk to the doctors and try to arrange our return as soon as possible." With these words, I manage to elicit a genuine smile from my mother, one I haven't seen in a long time. It brings a momentary sense of relief to my soul.
Ten days have passed since I promised my mother I would come back, and today I was finally able to keep that promise.
"Thank you for coming for us, Raiza," my mother says.
"Don't thank me," she replies, wrapping her arms around both my mother and me. "You're part of my family."
"You have no idea how happy I am to know that you'll always be there for my daughter," my mother says.
"Don't doubt it, I will always take care of her," Raiza assures.
"Hmm, don't talk as if I'm a baby," I interject.
We all laugh, breaking the embrace. With the help of my friend, we carry the luggage to her car. Once we embark on the journey, I dedicate myself to observing the landscape and my mother's smiling face, as the gentle breeze of New York welcomes us.
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