Problems Ongoing

Chapter 10 – Fracture

The appointments became routine.

Different offices.

Different faces.

Same questions.

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Fine.”

“Any stress?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you taking the medication as prescribed?”

“Yes.”

It was easier that way.

Short answers. No explanations.

No one digging too deep.

The pills changed.

Small white ones.

Then blue.

Then something stronger.

“Try this.”

“This should help.”

“Give it time.”

Nia gave it time.

Days.

Weeks.

Nothing changed.

The nights were still long.

The thoughts still loud.

The pressure still there—constant, unrelenting.

One evening, she sat in her room, a new bottle resting in her palm.

She stared at it.

Expression blank.

“Help with what?” she muttered.

She set it down.

Untouched.

Because deep down—

She already knew.

It wasn’t working.

That night, the house wasn’t quiet.

Voices echoed faintly from downstairs.

Unfamiliar.

Nia frowned slightly, stepping out of her room.

She hadn’t been expecting anyone.

As she descended the stairs, she saw him.

A man in his late fifties, standing in the living room like he belonged there.

Well-dressed. Controlled.

Watching everything.

He turned as she approached.

“So,” he said, his voice measured. “You’re Nia.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“And you are?”

“A relative,” he replied. “From your father’s side.”

That alone put her on edge.

“We’ve never met,” she said flatly.

“No,” he agreed. “But I’ve been watching.”

Nia’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I heard about the arrest,” he continued, pacing slowly. “The drinking. The… behavior.”

Her jaw tightened.

“And I have to say,” he added, stopping in front of her, “it’s disappointing.”

Silence.

Nia’s fingers curled slightly at her side.

“You were given everything,” he went on. “A name. A legacy. A company people would kill for.”

She didn’t respond.

“And this is what you do with it?” he said, his tone sharpening. “Throw it away?”

“Say what you came to say,” Nia replied, her voice colder now.

“Oh, I intend to,” he said. “Because clearly no one else is being honest with you.”

A pause.

Then—

“You’re not strong,” he said bluntly. “You’re just pretending.”

That hit.

“You’re falling apart,” he continued. “And sooner or later, it’s going to cost you everything your parents built.”

Her breathing shifted.

Just slightly.

“They trusted you with it,” he added. “And you’re proving they were wrong.”

That was it.

Something snapped.

The glass in her hand—she didn’t even remember picking it up—shattered against the wall.

The sound echoed sharply through the room.

“Don’t,” Nia said, her voice low, shaking slightly. “Talk about them like that.”

But he didn’t stop.

“Why not?” he pressed. “It’s the truth.”

Another glass went flying.

Then another.

Shattering.

Breaking.

Pieces scattering across the floor.

“You don’t know anything!” she snapped, her voice rising now, breaking through the control she’d been holding onto for so long.

Her chest heaved.

Her hands trembled.

“You think you can walk in here and tell me what I am?” she shouted. “You weren’t there!”

More glass crashed.

“I built this!” she continued, her voice cracking. “I held everything together when they were gone—so don’t stand there and tell me I’m not strong!”

Silence hit after that.

Sudden.

Heavy.

The man stared at her for a moment.

Unmoved.

Then—

He adjusted his sleeve.

“You’re proving my point,” he said calmly.

And just like that—

He turned.

And walked out.

The door closed behind him.

The house fell silent again.

Nia stood there, breathing hard, surrounded by broken glass.

Her hands slowly lowered.

Her shoulders dropped.

The anger drained.

Fast.

Leaving something else behind.

She sank down slowly, her knees hitting the floor.

Careful of the glass.

But not enough to avoid it completely.

It didn’t matter.

Her hands covered her face.

And for the first time in a long time—

She broke.

No control.

No mask.

No pretending.

Just quiet, uneven breaths…

And tears she couldn’t stop.

“They weren't wrong…” she whispered weakly. “They weren’t wrong…”

The words didn’t sound convincing.

Nothing did anymore.

Hours later, she made it to her room.

Barely.

She didn’t change.

Didn’t clean up.

Didn’t think.

She just collapsed onto the bed, the weight of everything finally pulling her under.

Tears still fresh on her face.

Eyes heavy.

Sleep came.

Not peacefully.

But it came.

And in the silence that followed—

There was no control left.

Only the aftermath.