Mia didn’t sleep. By morning, the house felt like a tomb.
She came downstairs to find Jake already in the kitchen, making coffee with stiff, mechanical movements. His knuckles were bruised from the punches he’d thrown last night. He didn’t look at her when she entered. She didn’t speak either. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating—two siblings who used to tease each other mercilessly now acting like strangers in their own home.
Mia opened the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, and poured herself a glass. The clink of the bottle against the counter was the only sound. Jake kept his back turned, scrolling through his phone.
She couldn’t take it anymore.
“Where’s my phone?” she asked, voice flat but edged with steel.
Jake didn’t turn around. “I have it.”
Mia’s grip ti
