Ashes of Her (eBook)

Book One

Kayla Duncan (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
200 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-102677-3 (ISBN)

Infos

Arianna Cruz has lived a life carved by fire - not the kind that warms, but the kind that burns everything in its path. Childhood abuse, loss, abandonment, and betrayal left her with scars that no one sees but everyone feels. Now in her late twenties, she's determined to rebuild - for herself, and for the children who depend on her.

But healing isn't a straight line.
It's a storm.

As Arianna navigates love, trust, and the haunting pull of her past, she's torn between the safety she craves and the dangerous allure of those who've both saved and shattered her. With romance, heartbreak, and raw truth woven together, Ashes of Her is a dark and gripping story about survival, resilience, and the cost of reclaiming your life.

Perfect for readers who crave emotional depth, intense romance, and characters who feel real enough to bleed.

Textauszug

~~One~~

 

Rain Bubbles

The rain whispered against the windowpane like a forgotten lullaby, soft and steady, wrapping the world in a hush that made the corners of the house feel heavier than usual. Arianna sat curled in her reading nook, knees tucked to her chest, a fleece blanket tangled around her legs. The worn spine of a book rested beside her, forgotten, its pages limp with disinterest. Her gaze wasn’t on the words—it hadn’t been for some time—but on the streaks of water sliding down the glass.

Behind her, the sounds of childhood bounced through the walls—bare feet on hardwood, giggles chased by sharp arguments, the wild, beautiful chaos of living. One of the boys shrieked in protest. Another cackled. A thump, a slam, then silence—only for it all to erupt again like a storm refusing to die.

Arianna didn’t move. The rain had her.

It always did.

She blinked slowly, and the glass in front of her blurred—not from the water on the outside, but from the memories pushing their way in, uninvited but never truly gone. Her mind reached back, unearthing the soft, ragged edges of a different storm. One without warmth. One without shelter.

She could almost smell the damp cardboard.

They were just kids. Her and her brothers, tucked beneath the awning of a gas station, or sometimes under a bridge if the wind wasn’t bad. Cold. Hungry. But trying, always trying, to pretend they weren’t. And on the nights it rained, when the world was too wet to ignore how unfair it all was, she came up with a game.

Rain Bubbles.

The name alone made her chest twist with something between sorrow and reluctant affection.

They had one bar of soap between them. Cracked and dry, barely fragrant anymore. But in the rain, it lathered up enough. They’d stand in a patch of grass—barefoot, muddy—and scrub their arms, their faces, their hair, and see who could make the most bubbles before the soap slipped from their hands and disappeared into the gutter. It made them laugh. Made the rain something fun, even just for a moment.

Arianna could still hear the laughter echo in her bones. Her baby brother, Tommy, always cheated—using more soap than anyone. And Jordan would protest with wild flails of his arms, slinging suds in all directions. She would laugh too. Loud, real laughter, even when her stomach ached from emptiness.

Because for a few minutes, they weren’t homeless.

They were kids.

Arianna’s eyes burned. She blinked again, hard this time, pulling herself back into the present.

The rain hadn’t stopped.

Neither had the arguing.

One of the kids bellowed her name down the hallway, frustration bubbling. Another yelled back, louder.

Arianna exhaled softly. She didn’t move just yet.

She sat with the memory a little longer. Let the grief settle. Let the joy hurt.

Because it always did.

A sudden burst of thunder outside made her flinch just slightly, and then—like clockwork—came the stampede.

Two sets of feet pounded down the hallway like miniature hurricanes set loose.

“Mamaaaa!”

She barely had time to brace herself before both boys launched themselves into her nook.

Caleb, the oldest at nine, wrapped his arms around her neck with a dramatic grunt. “You have to come see what Evan did!” he insisted, wide-eyed, breathless, cheeks flushed from the chase. Evan, four, giggled as he climbed clumsily into her lap, his tiny arms flailing for balance. “He’s lying! He did it!” he squealed, shoving at his brother’s arm with sticky fingers. Arianna caught the scent of peanut butter.

“Oh Lord,” she muttered with a laugh, letting herself be consumed by their energy. “Do I even want to know?”

“Yes,” Caleb said at the same time Evan said, “No!”

They were tangled in her arms now, wiggling, shoving, laughing. She kissed the top of Evan’s curls and wrapped her other arm tightly around Caleb, pulling them both close. For a moment, she let herself just feel it—the warm chaos, the tiny bodies pressed to hers, the laughter vibrating through her ribs. It was loud. Messy. Perfect.

“Alright, alright,” she finally said, playfully nudging them both back. “Let me guess—Legos in the toilet again?”

“Nooo!” they yelled in unison, and then broke into another round of laughter.

“Go. Clean up your mess,” she ordered gently, tapping their behinds. “And yourselves. You’re both sticky.”

“Race ya!” Caleb shouted, scrambling off her and sprinting down the hallway.

“Cheater!” Evan yelled as he gave chase, legs much shorter but determined.

Their bickering faded as they rounded the corner, and Arianna rose from her nook with a stretch, dragging the blanket from her lap and tossing it aside. The quiet moment was gone, but it had been enough.

She padded into the kitchen, tying her hair up with the band around her wrist. The kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and cinnamon from earlier, but now it was time for the real work.

Dinner.

She pulled the seasoned chicken from the fridge and slid it into the oven, already preheated. The macaroni boiled on the stove, bubbles hissing, while she sautéed green beans in butter and garlic beside it. On the back burner, thick slices of apples fried in cinnamon and brown sugar, the syrupy sweetness curling into the air.

Behind her, the boys’ voices floated from the bathroom.

“I’m washing faster than you!”

“No you’re not, you missed a spot!”

She smiled to herself and stirred the macaroni, pouring in cream and cheese until it was perfectly gooey.

The kitchen buzzed with warmth. Rain still tapped on the windows. The house smelled like home.

She was just setting the plates onto the table—three small, two full—when the front door creaked open.

Heavy footfalls on the hardwood.

Arianna looked up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

Vincent stepped inside, shaking off his coat and rubbing the rain from his buzzed hair. The faint scent of sawdust and cologne drifted in with him—a scent she’d come to recognize as comfort. Familiar. Solid.

His dark eyes met hers across the room, tired but soft.

He didn’t need to say a word.

He crossed the kitchen in three easy strides and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. His hand lingered at the back of her neck for a second longer than necessary, grounding her, steadying her.

“Smells like heaven in here,” he murmured.

Arianna smiled, a bit of tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying melting out of her shoulders.

“Dinner’s ready. Boys are still finishing up… whatever chaos they caused.”

“Let me guess—Legos again?”

“Worse,” she said with a smirk, but didn’t elaborate.

Vincent chuckled, pulling out a chair and sinking into it with a tired sigh, watching her move around the kitchen like she belonged there—which she did. Everything about this space felt warmer when he was in it. Not perfect, not simple… but warmer.

As she set the final dish on the table—fried apples, golden and syrupy, still sizzling—she heard the thunder of feet again. The boys came bursting out of the hallway, hair wet, shirts half-tucked, faces clean enough.

“We’re done!” Caleb yelled.

“I beat him!” Evan argued, climbing up into his booster seat with an exaggerated huff.

“No you didn’t!”

“Boys,” Vincent said, raising a brow.

Both fell silent immediately.

Arianna hid her smirk.

Just as she turned to pour juice into their plastic cups, she heard another sound—the soft creak of the back door.

Before she could ask, a tall, slender figure with soaked braids and fierce brown eyes stepped inside, holding a dripping hoodie in one hand and a waterlogged backpack in the other.

“Hey, Ma,” said Alani, her thirteen-year-old daughter, with a slight nod, eyes darting from Vincent to the table.

“About time,” Arianna said, voice softening.

Alani dropped her things by the door and came to wash up, moving with the mix of independence and vulnerability that came with her age. She didn’t rush. She never did.

When she finally sat, and everyone was gathered, Arianna looked around at her messy, mismatched little world.

It wasn’t calm.

It wasn’t clean.

But it was hers.

Dinner was always loud.

Not chaotic—not anymore—but full. Clinking forks, slurped juice, little feet swinging beneath the table, sibling bickering, laughter that echoed off the kitchen walls Arianna had once painted white but now accepted as “permanently stained eggshell.”

Alani sat with her legs crossed at the end of the table, chewing slowly and scrolling half-heartedly through a book she wasn’t reading.

“You don’t like the mac and cheese?” Arianna teased lightly, nudging her foot under the table.

“I do,” Alani said, not looking up. “Just… thinking.”

“She’s in loooooove,” Caleb sang out, drawing the word into a dramatic, syrupy mess.

Alani glared.

“I will literally feed you your crayons.”

Evan choked on his juice from laughing. Vincent snorted and covered his mouth with the back of his hand.

Arianna laughed too, softly, as she reached across the table to spoon more fried apples onto Vincent’s plate.

But just as she sat down again—just as she let herself relax—Caleb’s fork clattered to the floor. The sound echoed a little too loud. Metal on tile. Sharp. Sudden.

Her breath caught in her...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 15.8.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-102677-1 / 0001026771
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-102677-3 / 9780001026773