CHAPTER 4

After finishing my assignment, I finally collapsed into bed, exhausted but still restless. My mind, which had been consumed by thoughts of the drawing and that strange encounter at the store, now found some temporary relief in the monotony of schoolwork. I pulled the covers over me, closed my eyes, and let the darkness settle in around me.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

In the middle of the night, I was jolted awake by a sound—a soft murmur coming from downstairs. At first, I thought it was just the usual creaks and groans of the house settling, but then I heard it again, clearer this time: the unmistakable sound of voices. Low, warm, almost like a whisper, and then the soft laughter that followed.

I froze.

My mother?

The shock of it hit me before I could even process what was happening. She wasn’t alone. I could hear another voice, a man’s. It wasn’t just any conversation. They were speaking to each other as if they had known each other for years, the tone gentle, relaxed—too relaxed for my liking. There was a sense of familiarity in the way they talked, an ease that felt foreign in the stillness of the house.

It felt like an invasion.

I sat up in bed, the sheets tangling around me as I tried to make sense of it. My mind raced. What was going on? Why had she brought someone home?

It wasn’t that I didn’t expect it at some point—it had been years since Dad passed, after all. But this, this felt too sudden, too close. I had never imagined this day would come. And yet, there they were, talking like it was the most normal thing in the world. The sounds of their voices filtered up through the floorboards, drifting into my room in soft waves.

I felt my chest tighten. A strange mix of shock and discomfort rolled over me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had even seen my mom smile like that—not since Dad’s death. I hadn’t realized how much I had shut myself off from everything until now, how much I had buried my own thoughts about what had happened to us.

I couldn’t understand what to feel.

I heard the soft clink of glass, a laugh, then a pause, as if they were sharing something private. I wanted to shut it out. I wanted to turn off my mind and go back to sleep, to pretend I hadn’t heard it. But I couldn’t. It felt like a door opening to something I wasn’t ready to face, something I had never expected to confront.

For a long time, I stayed there, wide awake, listening to the soft hum of their conversation below. I didn’t know how long it lasted—time seemed to stretch on as I lay there, trying to process the overwhelming flood of emotions that came with it.

And then, finally, silence.

I stayed still, heart racing, waiting for any sound, any sign that they were still there. But the quiet stretched on. My mind was racing, my thoughts tangled and confused. I wasn’t sure if I felt angry, betrayed, or just… lost.

I lay back down slowly, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The night felt different now, quieter in its own way. And for the first time in a long while, I felt the weight of being completely alone in this house. Alone in a way I hadn’t realized before.

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