Free Something to Live for (Moonlight Dating Series) by Natalie G. Owens Page A

problems.
One lady felt fat at a size twelve. Another guy couldn’t get as many
girlfriends as he wished. A businesswoman wanted to feel more motivated to
fatten her already sizeable bank account. Oftentimes, she wanted to throw
professionalism to the wind and tell them to get a grip. How could these
qualify as real concerns?
    Wanting
was one thing – but if one didn’t act, that desire could become a prison. Was
her own motivation to navigate the complexities of her job wearing thin?
Perhaps the universe was telling her something.
    She
smoothed out her dress and shifted pressure from one foot to the other, then,
laid a hand on her stomach to calm the agitation brewing inside.
    But she
hadn’t always been this disillusioned. There was a time when she believed… and
not only in her work. Her throat clogged when she remembered how, back then, a
pure, childlike enthusiasm drove her to do something she thought worthwhile. A
pang of nostalgia sliced through her heart.
    Yes, there
was a time, even before she’d aggressively pursued her credentials against the
odds, when she plainly and simply believed that life was always good if one wanted it to be. That
things always turn out okay in the end.
    Until a
decade and a half ago, when something happened that was not supposed to happen.
    Don’t go there, Melita . You
worked too hard, too long, for what you have. You chose to pursue a path of
science, to stay grounded, rather than focus on concepts that have no basis to
them .
    If she did
let the memories overwhelm her, she’d have to acknowledge something horrible
and fantastical, something that would drive her stark mad as it almost did then, simply because it was impossible to explain.
    But today
was exactly the eve of the fifteenth anniversary from the day when life as she
knew it ended, when the vision was torn from her eyes through an inexplicable
occurrence, one she could not ever bring herself to share with anyone. So, when
the clock struck midnight tonight, it would mark a milestone date for her, and
she couldn’t bring herself to forget, to obliterate from her mind the slightest
recollection of that fateful afternoon.  
    She
remembered that blasted outing in the Maltese countryside with her
Irish-Maltese mother and Finnish father. They had both been mindful that the more widely visited
bucolic areas of the Mediterranean island of Malta where they lived rarely
presented danger for an inquisitive adolescent. She, on her part, was the
average fourteen-year-old with a burning desire for independence.
    She had no
care in the world. The Buskett Gardens area and its leisurely
pathways were situated in one of the most beautiful fertile valleys on the
island. It was such a perfect day that she got a hankering to explore the woods
past the low stone walls. Her parents didn’t fret when she strayed.
    If only
they’d known…
    It was a
spring Monday, which meant the place was devoid of the
chaos one would expect from groups of picnickers on any given weekend. The
cheerful birdsong transmitted from the small sparrows and other fowl overhead put
the finishing touches to an already idyllic setting.
    She
sidestepped a huge shrub with foxgloves in bloom and walked into the thicket of
shady cypresses until she could barely hear her parents’ voices. When she
reached a small clearing, the trees got denser and shut out most of the
sunlight.
    She stood
for a moment and relished the silence, until her eyes fell on the sprawled body
peeking from behind a tree.
    A cautious
step forward brought sneakers, jeans, and a light blue shirt in her line of
sight. His fingers curled around the trigger of a gun. Blood spattered up the
limp, exposed arm and stained the front of the cotton shirt. The head was only
partially visible from behind the tree bark, but abundant dried blood coated
what she could see. She stopped in her tracks and screamed.
    A young man. Lifeless. Gone.
    Then, a
humming sound made her turn her head left. The hum fast turned