Fractures

By: M.R. Field


WHAT SOME BLOGGERS ARE SAYING ABOUT M R FIELD:

"M.R.Field creates a romantic masterpiece, and it reminds us of the chivalry that still exists somewhere." Komal Chandwani, The Library Whisp

M R Field is one of those rare stand out authors who writes amazing unique books that have you hooked from the first page. Grab your oxygen mask because you won't be coming up for air! – Lisa Sleiman, The Literary Gossip

"Everything M R Field writes is eloquent and emotive. Every word she writes drags you into her world and captures your attention until you've run out of words to read, leaving you begging for more" Bexxy, Desperately Seeking HEA's Book Blog





NOTE FOR THE READER

This book is set in Australia and has been written using UK English and contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

Please remember, that the words are not misspelled, they are slang terms and form part of the everyday, Australian lifestyle.

If you would like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author – contact details have been provided, for your convenience, at the end of this book.





To my beautiful nieces and nephew,

Always strive to be the best that you can be. You’re pretty awesome already, so it won’t take you long to get there.

I love you.

Love, Zia xxoo





“Know that I fought, Trinity, with every part of me, I fought.”

Love, M

TRINITY

Autumn, 2007

The soft wind kisses my tear-stained cheeks as I watch in hopeless silence as the mahogany wooden coffin lowers into the deep, dark hole. The purple ribbons that lace through the steel handles catch flickers of sunlight as the funeral staff lower the coffin down slowly. With each movement, my heart beats erratically against my chest. My eyes linger on the sprigs of lavender, yellow sunflowers, and red gerberas that sit on top of the dark wood. Flowers that often filled our house with their sweet scent are now a bitter reminder of what our house will no longer be. The ribbons lower as I clutch my mother’s memorial booklet to my chest, wanting to reach out and touch the casket just one last time.

My mother hated being in cramped places. My chest seizes in panic, only to release a harsh breath that thunders in my chest as the tears continue to fall. She’s so cramped in there. Is she cold? Uncomfortable? My father stands by my side, his arms draped tightly around my shoulders as his pain-filled sobs thrash against me. His voice, tinged with agony, cries out for his wife. Lifting the booklet, I stare at the photo taken during our last family trip together. Before our world turned to shit. Her windswept hair lay across her brow, and her deep blue eyes stared back into the camera as her wide smile tore through me, fracturing my thoughts.

“Another photo?” She giggles at my father. “Don’t you have enough, Felix? Take a photo of that tree or something. Now, that is beauty. Nature at its best.”

“Never, Harmony,” he replies. “Now, sit there and give me that smile, darl.”

“It’ll cost you a kiss.” She laughs.

“Eww, guys. Your only child is standing right here.”

“What’s your point?” My dad quirks his eyebrow at me. “You do realise, you got here somehow.” He winks at my mother, moving closer to her to steal a quick peck. I shake my head. Gross.

“Can’t wait for you to go crazy and gooey over a guy, baby girl.” She giggles, her lips barely apart from his.

“No way.” I cross my arms. “Now, can you take your damn picture?”

“Yes, ma’am! That guy will have to be able to deal with her feisty attitude too.” My dad raises the camera to his eyes as I raise my eyebrow at him, unimpressed. Whatever. Click.

That smile that stared back at me from the shiny booklet was all I needed on a bad day. After I struggled to get my designs to fruition, that smile made me believe I was worth something and could conquer anything. That smile brought warmth into a dark room. Now, that smile was becoming a memory. The face that remained was now descending into the cold, hard earth. The flowers are no longer visible, and I reach out into the crisp air. She’s too far away from me.

“No,” I sob, as the ribbon continues to winch her down. Breaking free of my dad’s grasp, I step forward to peer over the edge of the grave. Reaching its final destination, her coffin halts against the dirt.

“She’ll freeze down there,” I cry. I point to the casket. “Dad, she needs her afghan. Did you put it with her, or her scented candles? The ones for her headaches …” The soft lyrics of Eva Cassidy’s “What a Wonderful World” float through the air as I struggle to stay standing. This was not a wonderful world. Far fucking from it. My mother’s favourite song, taunting me with every beat of my broken heart.