Page 32 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
At eighteen Polarion years, I thought we still had all the time in the world.
Now, I’m drowning in a wave of conflicting emotions.
An unbearable sadness for this incredible woman who was always my anchor, my guide.
Deep gratitude for her patience and her constancy, which allowed her to teach me so much.
And a storm of anger at finding myself here, alone, without her irreplaceable presence.
Underneath all of that, my usual zest for life fights to resurface through the darkness.
Each day without her is a battle against absence, a struggle with the hollow space she left behind.
I feel lost, like a child abandoned in a suddenly cold, hostile world.
Guilt gnaws at me—could I have done something? Did I miss the signs?
I don’t understand. Why her? Why now?
The pain is constant. But sometimes I find a strange comfort in remembering her words, her love, her wisdom.
Grieving is a winding road, every step a challenge—but every step also brings me closer to acceptance.
So I hold onto the routine. I keep living with the Gekkaris, who’ve been my unwavering support.
I left Logan a holographic message when Mom died, but I don’t know when he’ll receive it—or when he’ll come. It might take months.
I haven’t seen him since last year, when he and Ayden came to recover at the house.
Even my thoughts about the tall, dark, broody guy who’s always by my brother’s side feel... dulled. Which is strange, considering how obsessed I usually am with him. Maybe I’m finally over that ridiculous crush?
I don’t know if Logan and his partner will come to Gekkaria after learning about Mom’s death. But for now, I carry on, just like I always have—even if it feels completely different without her.
Today, I’m on my aeropod heading toward Gekkar Creek to drop off the latest herbal mixes.
It’s my first time back there since...
A lump tightens in my throat, choking my breath.
I close my eyes and clear my mind until it passes.
I’ve found that trick helpful lately, for calming down the panic attacks that hit me out of nowhere.
Let’s face it—being barely eighteen and living on your own isn’t easy.
But this isn't me.
Mom always said I was like a sunbeam—constantly cheerful and full of smiles. Not lately, though.
Lately, it’s just a lot of clouds in my head.
My father?
I saw him at Mom’s cremation ceremony. That’s it.
Apparently, he had better things to do than mourn the woman who left him years ago.
He’s busy with his shady Nalgou powder trade anyway.
