What She Lost and Found

By M.L. Garcia

When you are faced with challenges, what matters most is how you choose to deal
with them. That determines your fate...

Her life seemed perfect. Her childhood best friend Christina was like a sister to her. Wherever she was, Christina was usually nearby. It should have been a wonderful beginning to adulthood during her freshman year of college. Unfortunately, two horrible nights shake her world to the core. Innocence is stolen, lives are shattered, and a young life is lost. Nothing will ever be the same again for Daniela.

Daniela Franco finds it difficult to trust others after a horrible ordeal she experienced in her hometown. With a past that relentlessly controls her life, she decides to protect herself by never allowing anyone to get close enough to destroy her again. Daniela stays focused on work and school while staying away from the college party scene. She keeps a tiny circle of friends which keeps her safe, but life has a way of changing things.

Her secrets from the past begin to slowly resurface and threaten to rock her world again in the dark and destructive way it did years earlier. Can Daniela face the demons from her past that are determined to finish what was started? Will the people she has grown to trust survive her secrets as well as their own?

Changes are certain with new friendships, chances to build trust again, the possibility of finding love, and experiencing intimacy the way it is meant to be.

Daniela must try to live with what she lost and with what will soon be found...

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.L. Garcia
• Release date: Feb 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463699577

M.L. Garcia

M. L. Garcia is the author of the novel:WHAT SHE LOST AND FOUNDand the novel:THE LONG ROAD TO SERENITYM. L. Garcia is the author of: WHAT SHE LOST AND FOUND which will be re-released for your reading pleasure on February 4th, 2019, newly revised and with a fresh new cover. She’s also the author of: THE LONG ROAD TO SERENITY which is available now in e-book and paperback where books are sold.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: My BFF

Walking on campus once felt new and exciting, but it all changed. I’d catch people I had known for years and some strangers staring as they passed me by. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I left.

I couldn’t stay in the place that no longer felt safe, so I moved away to complete my education at the University of Texas at Austin and to escape my heartbreaking past.

Anger and vulnerability have become my new normal ever since my life tragically changed in my freshman year of college. Houston had always been home, my refuge from the troubles of the outside world, but it quickly lost its charm.

The two worst nights of my life haunt me to this day. They’ve become the darkest days of my life. They’re the nightmares that have engraved themselves deep inside me.

After my ordeal, I felt used and was left broken. It shattered my ability to trust anyone. That first night was a horrible experience, but the second night completely shattered my life when I lost the one person who knew every secret of my adolescent years.

I’ve become a robot with no emotion and no real connection to people. I’m afraid to let myself feel anything, or the overwhelming sadness and anger could resurface and consume me again. The life I knew before is gone, and all that remains are the ruins of its demise.

Regardless of how hard I fight to forget, that warm fall night of my freshman year of college never fades away. It threatens to come crashing back, to tear me apart all over again, but I won’t allow it. If I do, it’s likely I’ll never recover emotionally or mentally.

I wonder if I can ever revive the old me again or feel the inner peace I once was capable of enjoying. I think something died inside me. I worry every day that my healthy emotions may all be gone for good.

To most people, I probably seem like an average college girl who worries about grades and small life issues. But I’ve mastered the skill of hiding what goes deeper, beyond what meets the eye.

I used to be someone who’d hide my typical teenage mischief from my parents. Sneaking out so Christina and I could catch a late-night movie after curfew or creeping away to a late-night party was the worst of it. We were like sisters. Where there was one of us, the other had to be nearby.

I once was lively, outgoing, and I was never short of friends. Now I’m reserved, quiet, and cautious, to the point of mostly being paranoid and alone. My life is the complete opposite of what it used to be.

I used to enjoy attention from admirers. The blend of my dark chocolate-brown hair, brown almond-shaped eyes, and fit body due to years of playing volleyball always seems to draw notice from the opposite sex.

But these days, I couldn't care less what anyone thinks about my looks. In fact, I pray they don’t notice me at all. I keep my makeup to a minimum, a little lip-gloss, and mascara.

I used to love makeup and dressing up for any and all occasions, but just like everything else about me, that changed. Now, I dress modestly and try my best to blend in with the scenery.

The two boys I dated in high school always complimented me on my kissing skills and my full lips. But now attention from the opposite sex is the last thing I want. It becomes intolerable quickly.

For the remainder of my freshman year and into the first semester of my sophomore year, my life became some kind of strange bipolar cycle. I’d go quickly from calm to an angry or sad mood if something triggered me.

It all stems from those horrific moments that altered my life in the span of only three days. My panic attacks were tough for a few months after. It’s like my mind and my body wanted to run away from the memories. I could’ve been lost forever, just like my best friend was lost two nights after my ordeal.

My sweet and trusting best friend, Christina...

Christina and I together were always the center of attention without trying to be. We met in our kindergarten class and grew up together. We were like peanut butter and jelly, two peas in a pod – inseparable.

Christina Borello could make any straight man drool, and many women admired her. She just had one of those super cool and friendly personalities that clicked well with anyone. The most amazing person I once knew had a way about her. She was always able to win people over fast. And I was the lucky one she called her confidant and best friend.

She was beyond beautiful with her long bright golden locks that naturally seemed to glow when the sun would bounce off in certain angles. Her bluish-gray eyes and clear complexion just added to her beauty. She was almost model tall and athletically built from all those years we played together for the junior high and high school volleyball teams.

Her beauty wasn’t only skin deep. She had a heart of gold. She befriended everyone who crossed her path.

She was ripped away from her loving family, from a community she often volunteered in and from friends who were left heartbroken. And she was taken from me. It felt like my life had shattered into a million tiny pieces that were blown away, to never return and make me whole again.

I thought I was in turmoil the night I was attacked, but I didn’t know real gut-wrenching heartbreak until my best friend was stolen from me just two nights later. So much was lost then. I doubt I’ll ever feel complete again, and I’m certain I’ll never fully resemble the person I was before.

CHAPTER 2: Me, Now

Three years after my freshman year of college…

I rush to my last class for the day. Since it’s Friday evening, student traffic has begun to dwindle. The campus is usually packed with students and professors during the mornings and afternoons. Evenings mean dealing with fewer people, just the way I like it.

Now in my last year of college, I’m close to the finish line of graduating with my bachelor’s degree in art history. My next step will be finding a job.

I'm not sure about my life plans anymore. I just know I have to keep living. If that’s what you’d call this. I need to keep on going for my parents and for my best friend Christina. I miss her every single day.

My parents know I love art, but they didn’t understand why I would major in art history and minor in business. They wanted me to major in business, but instead of debating with me, they have tried to be supportive.

I know not much can be done with a bachelor’s degree in art history, but it feels better for me. I might decide to go on for my master’s degree and get a job at a museum. Working with artifacts sounds way better than working with groups of people.

My mom and dad try to be supportive of my choices, but they think this is my way of rebelling and dealing with my past experiences. I’ll admit that art history wasn’t my first choice.

I started off as a broadcast journalism major, but that changed after my freshman year. I couldn’t handle the thought of dealing with so many people and all the attention it would mean. So, it completely altered my future career plans.

I’ve found art to be both a soothing and healing form of expression for me. Art gives me something else to focus on, instead of acknowledging my memories.

It is the fall season of my senior year, and I’ve established a simple routine: school and work. My last class for the week always passes quickly and painlessly. It feels like I'm on cruise control in my classes since school has always come easy for me.

I have to hurry back to my single dorm room, which I was lucky to score this year. Hounding the right people proved to be fruitful since I got what I so desperately needed – solitude.

My roommate last year was very exuberant, which didn’t bother me. What irritated me was how extra friendly she was with guys. I couldn’t handle another year of rooming with her because some of her guy friends consistently hit on me.

Regardless, she’s become a great friend now, even though living together was a bit of a challenge. She’s mellowed down some but still enjoys flirting with attractive guys.

Dating is the last thing on my mind. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel differently about it, but for now, it’s what works for me.

As I near my room, I grip my keys tightly. I need to feel prepared at all times. I rush to unlock my door and shut it just as quickly.

The soft orange and yellow glow of the setting sun greets me, dimly lighting my room. I secure the main lock to my door and latch the chain link I added the second day after moving in.

I promptly throw my oversized brown bag onto my bed, kick off my black slip-on shoes, and undress in a ten-second swoop. I’ve not only become a control freak, but routines have become necessary. Standing in my bra and panties, I reach into my closet and pull out the neatly hung uniform for my weekend job.

I slip on basic black jeans, an electric blue t-shirt with the words Guilty Pleasures scrawled on the front in white letters and a black baseball cap with the same wording on the front. I pull my hair up into a ponytail, grab my stuff, and head out the door.

Sometimes I think I chose this job because I subconsciously feel I spend enough time alone and need some form of direct human interaction. Maybe it’s the old me still grasping for some contact with people even though I built a hard-outer shell to keep people away.

Whatever the reason may be, it’s the job I chose. I enjoy it.

The people I work with are friendly and understand that I don’t like people in my personal business. It’s another reason I like my job at the coffee and live music house about three blocks from my dorm.

The owner, who also runs the place, is a forty-something, vixen-type named Vicky. Her personality can be best described as hard candy with a sweet center. She keeps the sweet part reserved only for those she really likes. You can tell she was a hellcat in her younger years by the way she handles her business and the men who flirt nonstop with her.

Vicky can read people pretty well.

She could tell I had a history that I didn’t want to disclose from the start. I have this suspicion she’s the reason my coworkers have never gotten too personal with their questions about me.

Vicky’s never been married and has no children. She’s four inches shorter than me, with dirty blonde hair, hazel-green eyes, and has become like a second mother to me.

My shifts are usually the same unless I work extra hours. I come in after my evening class on Fridays and work longer shifts on Saturdays and Sundays. I don’t have much else going on those days.

Working the weekends was a challenge at first. This is a big hangout for many college students and a few locals from the area. We serve coffee and different kinds of caffeinated drinks all week long. Alcoholic beverages and live music are offered solely on the weekends. I usually work the register and make drinks but never wait tables.

My coworker, Gina, has become a likable acquaintance and usually works my same shifts. Gina works for extra spending money since her parents take care of everything else, whereas I work to pay for my car and to keep my mind occupied.

Guilty Pleasures Coffee and Live Music House is right at the intersection of two busy streets. We’re usually packed with students from the university since it’s close to campus. Sorority and fraternity row are both down the block, and their members always come in for their early morning caffeine fix during party weekends.

It’s a typical Friday evening. Groups of my peers come and go as I pass them along the well-lit walkway. Once I arrive outside the coffee house, I hear muffled beats coming from inside.

As soon as I push open the large wooden door, the music from a live band on the small stage booms-out loud and clear. It’s a sultry, mid-tempo song about love lost. How melodramatic, I think to myself. I wave at a couple of the waitresses as I weave my way toward the back. Some either smile or nod their head at me. I walk behind the counter, making sure never to bump into any patrons. Grabbing my apron, I rush to the back room to clock in.

My shift’s busy as usual. I have become a pro at making different kinds of drinks. I’ve made a couple of black eyes, some lattes, and many of the popular cappuccinos. There are occasional orders of the typical Friday night mixed drinks, beer, and wine.

I love making my personal favorite, the Chocolate Dalmatian. It consists of white chocolate mocha topped off with java chip and chocolate chip. It’s sometimes jarring how much caffeine people consume so late at night. Most are probably just getting their nights started, I guess.

My shift is almost over. It’s been a mellow and relaxing evening. I’m sure it has a lot to do with the solo acoustic guitarist performing right now, with his smooth as silk vocals and bluesy music.

While the music plays on, I lean against the counter and think of my book selection to decide on what to read before bed later. It will either be a steamy romance or a cozy mystery.

A smooth deep voice instantly pulls me back to reality, Excuse me, but can I place an order?

I glance up, locking eyes on the person with the strong and strangely sensual voice. I quickly notice his dark hair and beautiful warm dark brown eyes. I can’t focus on his appearance, just those eyes. He’s watching me with a curious expression and a small smirk on his lips.

Struggling to regain my composure as I calculate his height – this man has to be well over six feet tall. I scan his face, quickly returning to those eyes.

His stare makes me feel exposed, as if he’s looking right into me. Wow, I’m dumbstruck. I’m standing here looking like a fool, with my lips parted and silent. My mind and mouth have suddenly disconnected.

Finally, I remember where I’m at and what I need to say. Um, hi. Sorry. How can I help you?

His eyes are downcast for a moment. I notice his small smirk widen and turn into a full-fledged smile. It feels like he’s laughing at me which annoyingly makes me blush with embarrassment.

He looks back at me, after what feels like a long moment. Yes, I would like a coffee, black please.

Okay. That will be two dollars and forty-five cents please.

I need to hide my nervousness. After he pays, I leave to get his drink. When I return with his coffee, he has his back toward me. He’s leaning against the counter watching the live performance on stage, his head softly bobbing to the rhythm.

Sir, here’s your coffee.

Thank you, he says as he turns and reaches for his drink.

Our fingertips lightly brush each other, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm. Our eyes meet and lock on to each other as we look up from the coffee cup after our simple touch. Did he feel the jolt too? It’s the longest few seconds of my life.

I break the stare and quickly drop my hand from the coffee cup. I rub my palm on my jeans as if it’ll erase the strange sensation.

He stands there a few seconds, giving me a small smile before turning to walk away. He sits at a small two-seater table near the side of the stage. For the next half hour, I periodically glance in his direction, hoping he doesn’t notice me watching him. Maybe he’s meeting friends or a girlfriend perhaps? But no one ever shows.

At the end of my shift, I clock out and swiftly say my goodbyes. I reach for the exit door to leave when a group of college girls walks in. Surprised – I jump back from the door, bumping into someone behind me.

The girls apologize but annoyingly giggle about it. When I finally turn to see who’s behind me, it’s the tall attractive guy from earlier.

I give him a tight-lipped smirk, offer a brief apology and push out of the door quickly. A few seconds later, I hear his footsteps behind me on the sidewalk.

Just as I’m about to reach the corner at the end of the block where I would normally turn to head to my dorm, the stranger calls out, Excuse me, Miss?

I don’t feel good about this. I always ignore men when they try to flirt or talk to me, especially if I’m alone. The sidewalk isn’t exactly secluded by any means, but the situation definitely has me on guard.

I pick up my pace to gain distance. I’m hoping he’ll just give up, turn around and go away. He calls out again. Ma’am, excuse me. Can you hold on a sec?

Something about the way he says it doesn’t strike me as dangerous, but my body continues in automatic get the hell away mode. Frustrated, I finally stop and turn to face him.

What? I practically bark out at him. I immediately regret my response, but I stand firm and ready for anything.

He gives me a small, cautious smile. His eyebrows rise as if he’s shocked by my response. The man shakes his head and proceeds to walk toward me, closing the distance. Automatically, I take a step back. He instantly freezes his steps toward me, and his posture straightens as his expression shifts.

He raises his hands with his palms toward me as if to ease my worries. One hand’s empty, but he’s holding something dark in the other one. I glance at his face and then to his hand. It takes me only a second to realize why he followed me.

Sorry if I scared you, he says calmly as he hands me my hat. You dropped this back there by the door.

Feeling foolish, I remind myself that I’m like this for my own safety as I walk toward him. Oh, thanks. I didn’t even realize I had dropped it, I say awkwardly.

We stand there quietly for a few seconds. Then he slowly pushes his hands into his pockets as he looks down like he’s thinking of something. I start to turn away after a few uncomfortable seconds.

No problem. Are you okay?

Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Why?

His face holds no expression while he watches me. I feel like a fish in a fishbowl. I nod slowly.

As I’m about to turn away again, he says, I’m sorry, but you seemed a little jumpy just now. I was wondering if you’re okay? I’m sorry if I scared you. I wanted to get that back to you.

Gosh, here I am being Jumpy-Jill again in front of a stranger, who probably thinks I’m weird. What’s worse is yes, he’s a very attractive stranger, but he seems genuinely concerned.

Oh. Well, what do you expect? I’m walking home; it’s late, and a stranger’s calling out for me. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

I know I sound paranoid, but I don’t care. I’m like this for a reason, and I can’t afford to be any other way.

I get it, and I’m sorry I freaked you out. I really meant no harm.

His voice is calm. It reminds me of how a cop would sound talking to someone who’s thinking of jumping off a ledge. Yup, I feel foolish.

No harm, no foul. And um, thanks for my hat. I need to head home.

I turn in the direction of the dorms and leave him standing there without another word. He probably thinks I’m strange, but it’s okay. He wouldn’t be the first guy to think that.

That was an interesting exchange, I think to myself as I undress. I begin replaying what just happened with the handsome stranger. At Guilty Pleasures, I didn’t really get a good look at him, but I did get a complete full-on look at him out on the sidewalk.

He is definitely about my age and in great shape. I can tell because the white t-shirt he wore fit snugly against his upper arms and upper chest muscles. When he moved it was like his muscles flexed naturally on their own.

His face was as smooth as it was chiseled in a handsome way. His dark eyes were easy to get drawn into. Not good.

A man with lips like that – I bet he kisses well. Wait, why am I thinking of his kissing abilities?

I haven’t had thoughts like this about a guy in so long. It’s surprising and unexpected. What’s so different about him? I don’t understand it.

Oh well, chances are slim I’ll bump into him again. I’ve never seen him at the coffee house before, so I’ll just let it go and not think much about it.

I lie in bed with my favorite new adult genre book well past one o’clock in the morning. My eyes become heavy until I finally begin to drift off to dreamland. As I fade out, the final thought in my mind is of a handsome stranger with alluring dark brown eyes, looking back at me.

CHAPTER 3: Nathan

It’s Monday morning, and after hitting the snooze two times, I finally roll out of bed. My clock’s set for my routine.

I purposely set it a half hour earlier than necessary just to hit snooze a few times. The weekend shifts flew by like normal, pulling twelve-hour shifts at Guilty Pleasures.

I grab my shower necessities to begin my morning routine. Today, I decide to go for my casual fitted jeans, black ballet shoes, and a white fitted tank top to wear under my sheer pale-pink floral button-up sleeveless blouse.

It's a perfect outfit for a typical warm fall Texas day. The summer air still lingers all the way into mid-fall sometimes, which is one of the many things I love about living here.

I do end up breaking tradition. After I consider wearing my usual ponytail, I decide against it. I'm going to wear my hair down.

My makeup will stay the same: mascara, a line of black eyeliner and lip-gloss. It’s a routine I started to hide the bags under my eyes from the nightmares I used to have. But now I do it out of habit.

I always leave my place thirty minutes early. On my ten-minute trek to class, I enjoy the gentle breeze and how the trees hide me from the direct sun rays. I take a seat on the bench outside of the building for my next class and pull out my completed class work to make sure I’m satisfied with my essay.

I’m so lost in reviewing my work, I don’t notice anyone approaching. A familiar voice with a friendly sarcastic tone says, Hi again, coffee girl. I come in peace, so please, don’t worry.

My eyes dart up as my mind spins with excitement. He’s flashing a grin. Surprisingly, it seems sincere – similar to the one he flashed me last Friday night.

Something about his eyes gives me the feeling he isn’t a bad person. I don’t know this guy from the next, so why does he throw off my usual defenses?

Hello, I respond. I’m staring up at him with my essay in my hand.

So, I take it you’re a student here, too? His smile broadens.

I hate how I'm at a loss for words when I'm near him. This stranger affects me more than he should. What’s so special about him, besides his eyes, his body, and his lips?

Ugh. Stop that, I think to myself.

My mouth won’t work, and my brain isn’t much help either. After an awkward pause, I finally find my voice again. Yeah, I’m a student here. I’m actually waiting on my morning class. I’m a little early, so I thought I’d double check my work while I wait.

I lift the assignment in my hand to show him. He looks down at the paper in my hand and gives me a closed-mouth smile, tilting his head slightly. Then he focuses back on mine as he straightens his head.

He extends his right hand to introduce himself.

I’m sorry, we haven’t officially met. My name’s Nathan Villetti.

Nice to, um, meet you. My name’s Daniela. Daniela Franco.

We gently shake hands. Sweet sensations course through my body just like when our fingers brushed at the coffee house Friday night.

I’m not completely out of touch with my past. The good parts of liking someone still linger. There’s definitely an attraction and interest in Nathan.

I can’t have that. Not now. I’m so close to completing school, and I don’t need any distractions.

To be honest, I really don’t want to get close to any guy. It feels like I’m slowly healing as time passes, but a dark cloud still hangs over me. It still causes me to keep my distance from most people. The only ones I’ve grown close to are my old dormmate-turned-friend Bridget and my awesome boss, Vicky. My coworker, Gina, has also slowly grown on me.

It’s making me nervous to sit with this very attractive man so close by. I want to bolt. I glance around and see a few of my classmates waiting around like me. They don’t know me well, but they know I’m not social and keep to myself. So, to see me talking to this handsome guy is making a few curious. I can tell by their constant glances. I don’t want this attention.

I slide my classwork back into my bag and stand up, putting me physically closer to Nathan. When he sees me looking back at him, he gives me a closed lip smile. It makes me feel warm inside.

I just wanted to introduce myself. I guess campus is bigger than I thought. I was trying a new route to class, and that’s when I saw you on the bench. I had to come over and say ‘hi.’ I transferred from UCLA for my final two years. What’s your story, are you from around here?

Um… I’m from Texas but from another city.

He nods his head slowly as if expecting me to add more, but I don’t. My feelings are all jumbled, leaving me wordless again.

Well, I guess I better let you get to your class. My class is in the next building over, so I’ll probably see you around.

I give