Chapter Five: Staying Too Long
1265 Words
Amera woke up late.
Not because she slept well, but because her body finally gave in after staying awake most of the night. For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what day it was.
Then everything came back.
She sat up slowly, her head heavy, her chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. The house was quieter than usual, but not peaceful. It felt like a place where people were choosing not to cross each other’s paths.
Amera got up and brushed her teeth, taking her time, almost like she was delaying something. A small part of her still hoped things would feel different today. Not normal, but maybe… less sharp.
When she stepped into the living room, no one was there.
The table had already been cleared.
No plate for her.
No leftover food.
Amera stood there for a moment, looking at the empty table. Then she walked into the kitchen. The pots were closed, but when she opened them, they were empty.
She closed them again quietly.
Her stomach tightened, but she ignored it.
“There’s nothing there.”
Amera turned slowly. Her mother stood at the doorway, arms folded.
“I can see that,” Amera said.
“Then stop opening things like you don’t understand,” her mother replied.
Amera swallowed. “I was just checking.”
“Checking for what?” her mother asked. “You already know how things are now.”
Amera held her gaze. “Do I?”
Her mother didn’t answer immediately.
Then she said, “You’re not a child. I don’t have to spell everything out for you.”
Amera nodded once.
“Okay.”
She walked past her.
The rest of the morning dragged.
Amera stayed in her room, not because she wanted to, but because she didn’t know where else to be. The house didn’t feel like somewhere she could move freely anymore. Every space felt claimed.
At some point, she heard laughter from the living room. Her siblings were watching something together. The sound was normal, almost comforting, but it felt distant.
Amera picked up a book and tried to read.
She read the same page three times.
Nothing stayed.
Her mind kept circling back to yesterday. To the conversation. To the way everything had shifted so easily, like it had always been waiting to.
To the decision she thought she made last night.
She dropped the book.
For the first time, she felt tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
Around noon, her younger brother pushed her door open.
“Are you inside?” he asked.
Amera looked up. “Yes.”
He stepped in halfway, glancing around.
“Mummy said I should take your charger.”
Amera frowned. “My charger?”
“Yes. My phone is low.”
“Use your own.”
“It’s not working.”
“Then fix it.”
He looked at her like she was being difficult.
“Just give me yours,” he said.
“No,” Amera replied.
He frowned. “Why are you behaving like this?”
Amera stared at him. “Like what?”
“Like everything is yours,” he said. “It’s just a charger.”
Amera felt the familiar tightening in her chest.
“It is mine,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell mummy.”
Amera didn’t respond.
He left, and a few minutes later, her mother’s footsteps approached.
The door opened.
“Give him the charger,” her mother said.
Amera looked up. “No.”
Her mother’s expression shifted slightly.
“Amera.”
“I said no,” she repeated.
Her mother stepped into the room.
“You’re choosing to make things difficult.”
“I’m not,” Amera said. “I’m just saying no.”
“To what?” her mother asked. “To sharing something you didn’t even buy?”
Amera’s chest tightened.
“I’ve been using it.”
“And now he will use it.”
Amera shook her head.
“No.”
Silence filled the room.
Her brother stood at the door, watching.
Her mother looked at her for a few seconds, then said, “Or do you want me to start taking things from you one by one?”
Amera felt something drop inside her.
She reached for the charger.
Picked it up.
And handed it over.
Her brother took it and left.
Her mother followed.
Later that afternoon, Amera stepped out to get water.
As she passed the living room, she slowed down.
Her mother was on the phone.
“…I’m telling you, it’s better this way,” she was saying. “We’ve done what we could. She’s grown now.”
Amera stopped.
She didn’t want to listen.
But she didn’t move.
“Yes,” her mother continued. “She’s still here, but not for long. We can’t keep carrying her like this.”
Amera’s chest tightened.
Her mother laughed softly.
“No, no. She’ll figure something out. She has to.”
Amera walked away.
Quietly.
Like she hadn’t heard anything.
Evening came slowly.
The house settled into a routine that didn’t include her.
Amera sat on her bed, staring at nothing in particular, when she heard a knock.
Soft.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened.
Her father stepped in.
“Daddy,” she said.
He nodded and closed the door behind him.
For a few seconds, he just stood there.
Then he asked, “How are you?”
Amera blinked.
“I’m fine.”
They both knew it wasn’t true.
He sat down across from her.
“I came to talk,” he said.
Amera nodded.
“About yesterday.”
She watched him.
“You heard things the wrong way,” he said.
“Did I?” she asked.
He avoided her eyes.
“It’s not exactly how it sounded.”
“Then explain it.”
He hesitated.
“It’s complicated.”
“Or it’s true.”
Silence.
Amera looked down briefly.
“So I’m not your child.”
“Not biologically,” he said.
“And you didn’t think I deserved to know?”
“We didn’t want to confuse you.”
“And then?”
“It became easier not to say anything.”
Easier.
Amera nodded slowly.
“Did you ever see me as your daughter?” she asked.
He paused.
Too long.
“I cared for you,” he said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
He looked away.
“I tried.”
Amera nodded again.
“I understand.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Your mother is upset. She doesn’t mean everything she says.”
“She means it,” Amera replied.
He didn’t argue.
“You’re grown now,” he added. “Things are different.”
Amera stared at him.
“And I’m not part of those things.”
He didn’t answer.
That was enough.
He stood up.
“I just wanted to talk.”
Amera didn’t respond.
He walked to the door.
“If you need anything—”
He stopped.
Didn’t finish.
Then he left.
Amera sat there in the quiet.
Her hands resting on her lap.
Still.
Everything was clear now.
Not just what they said.
But what they didn’t.
She wasn’t being asked to leave.
Not directly.
But everything around her was being taken away.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Until leaving would be the only option left.
Amera leaned back against the wall.
And for the first time, staying didn’t feel like patience.
It felt like waiting to be erased.
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