Every mystery needs a spark, and in the Maxine Gerimatter series, that spark is Esmeralda Matilda Gyro. With a name as unforgettable as her personality, Esmeralda is the quintessential eccentric with a knack for appearing where she’s least expected—and most needed. She’s a whirlwind of wisdom wrapped in peculiar charm, leaving both friends and foes guessing. Before I share a glimpse into her world through her heartfelt “Letter to Self,” let me just say this: meeting Esmeralda is an adventure in itself. Stay curious, Cozy Corners readers—you’re in for a treat!

Letter To Self

Hey You,

Yeah, I’m talking to you—Esmeralda Matilda Gyro, the girl who used to dance under Vegas lights like she owned the place. Remember that? By day, you were Florence Nightingale with a smile and steady hands, patching up the broken. By night, it was all glitter and grace, spinning onstage like the world was watching. And believe me, honey, they were.

But life, as you found out the hard way, doesn’t always follow the script. One minute you’re driving home, bone-tired after another double shift, dreaming of a hot bath and maybe a nap. The next? BAM—lights out, thanks to an 18-wheeler that didn’t get the memo to stay in its lane. Talk about a plot twist of the century, right?

That accident? It didn’t just shatter your spine, it shattered everything. Sure, the surgery put you back together—sort of. But the pain? That was a whole new beast. Enter those magic little pills, your so-called “best friends” for a while. They made everything bearable, didn’t they? Until on day they didn’t. Until you found yourself dancing on a different kind of stage—the kind where the music stops, the lights go out, and there’s no applause.

I know you didn’t mean to spiral. It happens, right? One more forged prescription. You were precise about it, almost like choreographing a routine. But here’s the thing: secrets don’t stay hidden forever, and neither did yours. You got caught, and just like that, your double life hit the fan.

Prison wasn’t a walk in the park, was it? Let’s be honest, it was more like getting thrown into an ice-bath reality check. The glitz, the glam of Vegas, and the compassion from the hospital ward? All gone. What’s left is cold floors, metal bars, and time. And then that fight in the cafeteria. All over an extra slice of dessert. A freaking dessert! 

But it wasn’t the shard of tray that nicked you or the blood on your hands that shook you awake. No, it was kneeling there, trying to save another life, when you realized how far you’d fallen. That moment? That was your wake-up call, and dang-it, did you need it. 

When you walked out of those prison gates, you could’ve gone back to the same old life. But you didn’t. You checked yourself into rehab. And let me tell you—facing those demons head-on was a lot harder than any surgery or stage performance. But you did it. Slowly. Painfully. One day at a time. Turns out, rehab wasn’t just about kicking the addiction. It was about finding out who the heck you really are without all the noise.

And guess what? You found something better. That accident settlement was a blessing in disguise—yeah, I know, weird to say that now, right? But it gave you a fresh start. And you, smart cookie that you are, turned to Aunt Marcella. Fashion queen, eccentric as they come, with that big old’ heart of hers. She taught you everything about fabric, stitching, design—and in that cluttered, colorful studio, you started stitching together more than just clothes. You were stitching up the holes in your life.

You didn’t go the glam route either. Nope, not you. You put your heart into something real—clothes and blankets for the homeless. A far cry from the sequined dresses, but every stitch meant something. Every piece you made was a little bit of dignity for someone who needed it.

Let’s talk about that cigarette habit, though. Yeah, I know—you quit the pills only to pick up cigarettes like they were your new dance partner. Don’t even try to deny it. You’d sit in that café, cigarette dangling from your fingers, making jokes like it was no big deal. 

“Kicking the meds was like dumping a bad boyfriend,” you’d say, smirking. “But Mr. Nicotine? That’s the guy you know you shouldn’t date, but dang, he’s persistent.”

You made them laugh, but you knew the truth. Addiction’s a shapeshifter, and it wasn’t about to let you off the hook that easy. But guess what, Es? You’re stubborn as mule. You’ll kick that habit too, one flick of the ash at a time, just like you’ve kicked everything else. Because you’re a survivor, even if you do it with a little more sass than grace.

So, here’s the deal. Every day’s a new choice. You know that now. Life’s like one of your designs—sometimes the pattern doesn’t work, sometimes the seams are crooked, and sometimes you just have to rip it all out and start over. But you’re good at this, kid. You’re good at rebuilding.

Keep stitching. Keep laughing. And keep going, one stitch and one day at a time.

—Love, the girl who’s finally figuring it out. 

Esmeralda