Chapter Four: The Morning After
1284 Words
Amera didn’t sleep.
She lay on her bed with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
Every time she closed them, she heard it again.
You’re not ours.
We took you in.
Because someone had to.
The words didn’t fade.
They stayed.
Clear.
Loud.
By morning, her head felt heavy, like she had been thinking all night without rest.
The house was already awake.
She could hear movement outside her door. Plates. Voices. Normal sounds.
Normal house.
Nothing about it felt normal to her anymore.
Amera sat up slowly.
For a moment, she just stayed there.
Then she stood and walked to the mirror.
Her face looked the same.
Same eyes. Same skin. Same everything.
But something about her felt different.
Like she had been looking at the wrong version of herself her whole life.
Amera looked away.
She picked up her towel and stepped out.
When she entered the living room later, everyone was already there.
Her siblings.
Her parents.
Breakfast was set.
The same way it always was.
Amera paused at the entrance.
No one greeted her.
Not her siblings.
Not her father.
Not even her mother.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.
But it was clear.
They knew she knew.
Amera walked to the table slowly and sat down.
The chair felt strange under her.
Like she wasn’t supposed to be there.
She reached for a plate.
Her mother’s voice stopped her.
“Leave that.”
Amera looked up.
“What?”
“That food is for your siblings,” her mother said.
Simple.
Flat.
Amera blinked.
For a second, she thought she misheard.
“I always eat here,” she said quietly.
Her mother didn’t look at her.
“That was before.”
Before.
Amera’s chest tightened.
Her father shifted slightly but said nothing.
Her siblings avoided her eyes.
No one spoke for her.
No one corrected it.
Amera slowly pulled her hand back.
The room stayed quiet.
Plates clinked. Someone poured water.
Life continued.
Just without her in it.
Amera stood up.
“I’ll eat later,” she said.
No one responded.
She walked back to her room.
By afternoon, the house felt colder.
Not physically.
Just… different.
Her siblings passed her like she wasn’t there.
Her father stayed out longer than usual.
And her mother?
Her mother moved around her like she was a guest who had overstayed.
Every interaction was short.
Distant.
Sharp.
At some point, Amera stepped into the kitchen.
She hadn’t eaten since yesterday.
She opened one of the pots.
“Don’t touch that.”
Amera froze.
She turned slowly.
Her mother stood at the entrance.
“I just want to eat,” Amera said.
“That food is not for you.”
The words came easily.
Too easily.
Amera stared at her.
“What do you mean it’s not for me?”
“I mean exactly what I said.”
Amera let out a slow breath.
“I’ve been eating here my whole life.”
“And now you won’t.”
Just like that.
Amera’s hands tightened.
“So I should starve?” she asked.
Her mother shrugged slightly.
“You’re old enough to figure that out.”
That was it.
No concern.
No hesitation.
Just distance.
Amera nodded once.
Then turned and walked out.
She was sitting on her bed when her door opened.
She looked up.
It was her younger sister.
“Where is that your wine dress?” she asked, already stepping in.
Amera frowned. “What?”
“The one you wore yesterday,” the girl said, walking toward the wardrobe. “I want it.”
Amera stood up immediately.
“No.”
The girl paused.
“What do you mean no?”
“I mean no,” Amera said. “That’s my dress.”
Her sister let out a small laugh.
“Your dress?” she repeated. “Since when?”
Amera didn’t respond.
“I’m going out this weekend,” the girl continued. “And I need something decent.”
Amera felt that word.
Still, she shook her head.
“No.”
Her voice was firmer now.
“You can’t just come in and take my things.”
Her sister’s expression changed.
Annoyed.
Then slightly amused.
“Your things,” she said again. “You’re really serious.”
Amera didn’t move.
“I said no.”
For a second, her sister just stared at her.
Then she rolled her eyes.
“Okay,” she said, turning toward the door. “Let’s call mummy.”
A few minutes later, her mother walked in.
No knock.
No greeting.
“What is it?” she asked.
“She doesn’t want to give me the dress,” her sister said immediately.
Amera looked at her mother.
“It’s mine.”
Her mother’s eyes moved to the wardrobe.
Then back to Amera.
“Give it to her.”
Amera blinked.
“What?”
“I said give it to her.”
Amera shook her head slowly.
“No.”
Her mother let out a short laugh.
“Amera, listen to yourself.”
“It’s my dress,” Amera said again.
“And?” her mother replied.
Amera’s jaw tightened.
“And that means it’s mine.”
Her sister scoffed lightly.
“Mummy, please,” she said, “after all, it didn’t even sit well on her.”
Amera felt that immediately.
Her sister continued:
“I’ll have to resize it anyway. There’s too much extra fabric. I have to make it fit me properly.”
The room went quiet.
Her mother nodded slightly.
“That’s true,” she said. “It will look better on you.”
That one hit deeper than everything else.
Amera let out a slow breath.
“So that’s it?” she asked. “You’ll just take it because she wants it?”
Her mother folded her arms.
“Amera, what exactly here is yours?”
Silence.
Amera didn’t answer.
“This house? Not yours. The things in it? Not yours. Everything you’ve been using here has been provided for you.”
Amera swallowed.
Her chest felt tight.
“It’s just a dress,” she said.
But her voice wasn’t steady now.
“And she wants it,” her mother replied. “So give it.”
Amera shook her head.
“No.”
This time, there was anger in it.
Real anger.
Her sister laughed again.
“Why are you even holding on to it?” she said. “It’s not like it did anything for you yesterday.”
That one landed.
Hard.
Amera stared at her.
Then she looked at her mother.
Nothing.
No defense.
No pause.
Just expectation.
Give it.
Amera went still.
Then slowly—
She turned.
Walked to the wardrobe.
Opened it.
Pulled out the dress.
The same one she had worn the night before.
The one she had hoped would make her feel good.
She held it for a second.
Then turned back.
And handed it over.
Her sister took it immediately.
No thank you.
No pause.
Just left.
Her mother followed.
Like nothing had happened.
Amera stood in the middle of the room.
Her hands empty.
Her chest tight.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel like something was being taken from her.
It felt like something was being confirmed.
Clearly.
Completely.
She didn’t belong here.
She sat down slowly on the bed.
Her stomach hurt.
Her head felt quiet now.
Not confused.
Not overwhelmed.
Just clear.
Daniel.
Her parents.
Everything lined up.
She had been trying to hold on to something that was never really hers.
Amera looked around the room.
Her clothes.
Her books.
Her space.
None of it felt permanent anymore.
And in that moment
She made a decision.
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