Chapter 4 — Sam’s Perspective

Sam

Sam Rivera had always been good at knowing when to push and when to hold back. That instinct, honed over years of managing crises—her own and countless others’—had served her well as a social worker. But when it came to Charlie, her best friend since the awkward days of braces and borrowed textbooks, Sam’s instincts were failing her. Again.

She sat cross-legged on the worn leather couch in her modest apartment, a steaming mug of chamomile tea balanced precariously on her knee. The faint scent of lavender from her patchwork scarf mingled with the tea’s earthy aroma, but the soothing smells did little to quiet her rising frustration. The scarf, draped over the armrest, caught her eye, its vibrant colors a sharp contrast to the muted tones of her apartment. Her grandmother had woven it years ago, stitching in patterns meant to symbolize resilience and warmth. Sam had always thought of it as a reminder of her roots, of the strength it took to weather storms. But right now, it felt like a fragile piece of armor against the whirlwind consuming her best friend.