The Blind CEO Teen Lover

 DAISY JOYCE

 It was a chilly evening when my mom first suggested that we check on Dad. She had been observing him for weeks, noting how he seemed increasingly lost in the labyrinth of his work. The stress had visibly worn him down, and the once-excited anticipation of our planned family vacation faded into the background of forgotten calendar dates.

 One afternoon, while he was away trying to find a semblance of peace in the chaos of his office, a wealthy businessman reached out to him. Their conversations were a whirlwind of hope, and soon enough, Dad managed to secure a significant contract that seemed like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters. I could see the light flicker back into his eyes, a spark igniting his otherwise disheartened spirit. Dad often tells us that everyone faces their own battles, but this time, it felt as if he had finally emerged victorious from his latest fight.

 When he burst through the door that evening, breathless with excitement, our hearts swelled with joy as he shared the good news. The world around us seemed to brighten, and we couldn't help but smile. Dad's exuberance radiated through the room; he declared that we would soon be jetting off to South Korea once he wrapped up the project. I was caught up in daydreams, my mind racing with visions of boarding an airplane, exploring vibrant markets, and tasting exotic foods.

 Finally, the long-awaited day of our trip arrived. The air was thick with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy. We had meticulously packed our belongings, ensuring we were ready for every adventure that lay ahead. As we piled into the taxi—our final ride before the journey really began—the anticipation bubbled over into cheers. Dad reassured us that this would be an experience we would never forget, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

 As we settled in at the airport, I felt a sense of disbelief wash over me; could it be true that I was about to board a plane heading to another country? Time slipped by in a blur of boarding announcements and luggage checks, and before I knew it, we were finally flying through the clouds, leaving our home behind.

 The vacation itself was nothing short of magical. We immersed ourselves in the culture, making memories that would last a lifetime. The laughter we shared and the sights we saw filled my heart with a joy I had never experienced before. But the thrill of our adventure was tinged with an unshakeable feeling of foreboding, though none of us could have anticipated the tragedy that lay waiting upon our return.

 As we boarded our plane back to England, I felt a bittersweet twinge. The exotic thrill of South Korea still clung to me like the scent of blooming cherry blossoms, but the anticipation of returning home held its own charm. Our flight was uneventful until we made an unexpected stop in another country. After a brief layover, we boarded a connecting flight home, the comfort of familiarity soothing the remnants of my wanderlust.

 Upon landing in England, we clambered into a taxi, laden with our souvenirs and chatter about our experiences abroad. But the weather took a turn for the worse as rain began to hammer down, slicking the roads and creating an ominous atmosphere. Dad cautioned the driver to take it slow, his voice steady despite the mounting tension outside. Suddenly, without warning, the car lurched and stalled—our fate sealed in a cruel twist of fate. 

 Panic surged through me as everything shifted into slow motion. The world around us blurred, the inevitable collision with a large truck grew closer. I closed my eyes and braced for impact.

 When I opened my eyes again, I was engulfed in darkness and confusion. Pain radiated through my body, an unwelcome reminder that I was very much alive. I tried to shift, but my limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. Panic washed over me as I called out for my parents, my voice cracking in desperation, but silence answered back.

 I struggled to find my siblings, my heart hammering in my chest. They lay still, their eyes closed as if they were simply napping. The driver, too, was unresponsive. A chilling realization settled in—an icy grip on my heart: I was the only one awake in this nightmare. I screamed for help, a ragged sound escaping my lips, before darkness consumed me once more.

 When I finally regained consciousness, I found myself in a sterile hospital room. The walls were painted a stark white, and the air was tinged with the scent of antiseptic. A kind nurse entered, her face etched with concern. As she asked how I was feeling, I managed to croak out that I was okay. My next question, however, sent a wave of dread crashing over me; I needed to know about my family.

 The nurse hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, she took a seat beside me, gently rubbing my back. My senses heightened, I felt a gnawing anxiety ripple through me. She finally explained, her voice soft yet heavy, that I would be going to an orphanage. Confusion swirled within me, and I asked the question that hung in the air, thick with unspoken fears. "What happened to my family?"

 Her answer was a gut-wrenching blow. "Your family is gone. You are the only survivor. I'm so sorry, but even the driver didn't make it." The words hung in the air like shards of glass, cutting through my very being. The reality flooded over me, choking the sobs that erupted from my chest. I wept uncontrollably, the nurse trying to soothe me in the face of a grief that felt indescribable.

 All of the dreams of our home, our laughter echoed in the walls, flooded my mind as I learned that our house was no more. The implications of my father's unpaid loans became a stark reality. "He took out a loan that he couldn't repay, leading to the loss of your house and the freezing of his bank account." The finality of her words shattered what was left of my world.

 Understanding washed over me like a wave, numbing the edges of my pain. I had to accept the unthinkable: my family was gone.

 After what felt like an eternity, I arrived at the orphanage. The air was thick with the scent of worn-out dreams and struggles. The other children, upon hearing my story, offered sympathy, but it did little to comfort me. As days turned into weeks, I faced the stark reality that I was an outsider in this new world, treated poorly, my vulnerability preyed upon.

 At just 16 years old, I felt utterly lost, a tiny sailboat adrift in a vast ocean. I longed to return to the warmth and security of family, but with each passing day, it became clear that didn't exist anymore. In a desperate bid for survival, I made the choice to run away, hoping that perhaps someone would come looking for me, longing to reunite. But the truth was as harsh as it was clear: they didn't seem to care at all.

 Since that day, I have sought refuge under a bridge, pulling blankets around myself like shields against the world. I scavenge for food, piecing together enough to survive each day. It is a struggle, but I persist.

 Despite the hardships, I hold on to the memory of my family, cherishing them every year on the anniversary of the accident. Their memory fuels the fire in my heart, a beacon that drives me to keep pushing forward, to become the strong, significant person they always hoped I would be.