Silent Half

Chapter Ten: Paper Castles and Glass Smiles

[Diary Entry — ]

Today’s weather is gentle. The kind that hugs your skin instead of punishing it. I sat under the sycamore tree for an hour before anyone noticed I wasn’t inside. That was the nicest hour I’ve had in days.

It’s strange—how something as ordinary as quiet feels sacred here. I used to imagine what it’d be like if this house felt like a home. If I ever came downstairs and my mother smiled. If Amara ever knocked on my door and asked how I was doing.

But those are just paper castles. Fragile. Pretend.

Finn called this morning. Just to check in. He always knows when I need that.

Jace texted too. Elijah’s been silent, but I know it’s because he’s working overtime again. I wish I could tell them everything. About the headaches. About how I get so dizzy some mornings that I can’t stand straight. About how I’m so scared I won’t even live long enough to graduate.

But I won’t tell them. Not yet. I won’t make them worry.

I don’t want to be the burden. Not to them.

I just wish someone—anyone—here could see me. Really see me.

But it’s always Amara.

Always her.

The next morning was slow. Heavy. The air itself felt reluctant. I could hear laughter downstairs—Amara’s voice bouncing against the marble, sweet and saccharine, winning over our maternal grandparents all over again. I didn’t want to be part of it. I didn’t want to be anywhere near them.

Instead, I found my solace in the garden.

The earth felt warm beneath my knees as I dug gently around the soil bed. My herbs were thriving—mint, basil, a stubborn bit of thyme refusing to wilt. I pruned their edges and whispered soft encouragements like secrets they could grow on.

I was almost smiling.

Until the crunch of designer flats on gravel yanked me back to reality.

“Look at you,” Amara’s voice sneered. “Digging in the dirt like a little beggar girl.”

I didn't look up. “Go away, Amara.”

She crouched beside me, fake-sympathy dripping off her like perfume. “You know, Mom says I have this natural elegance. She thinks it’s something you either have or don’t.”

“I’m busy,” I said, brushing soil into neat lines.

“Busy pretending you matter?” she laughed. “How’s that working out?”

I turned to her. “What do you want from me?”

“To watch you fall,” she said simply. “It’s my favorite thing.”

I stood, trying to step away.

“Oh, don’t go yet,” she called after me. “I haven’t even told you the best part. I found your little hospital papers.”

My blood ran cold.

She smiled. “You left them out. i***t. But don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Yet. What’s the fun in ruining the surprise? I want them to find out the way I did—by watching you crumble.”

“You’re vile.”

“And you’re pathetic,” she shot back, voice low and dangerous. “Sick. Weak. And still trying to act like you belong here.”

I was about to walk away when she gasped—loud and exaggerated—and fell backward into the rosebush with a dramatic yelp.

Perfectly timed.

Because at that exact moment, our parents and grandparents stepped out onto the patio.

“What happened?!” our mother shrieked, running over.

“She—she pushed me!” Amara wailed, tears already springing to her eyes. “I was trying to talk to her and she shoved me!”

“That’s a lie!” I shouted. “I didn’t touch her!”

My grandmother’s face twisted. “This again? She’s always starting drama.”

“You’re accusing your sister of lying?” Father asked, voice sharp.

“She came out here to torment me!” I cried. “I didn’t touch her, she did it on purpose!”

“You expect us to believe that?” my mother snapped. “When she’s bleeding and crying?”

“She’s acting! Don’t you see it?”

“Enough!” my father roared. “You’ve embarrassed this family enough.”

I backed up, hands raised. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You never do, right?” Grandma said with a cold laugh. “Always the poor misunderstood child.”

“You were a mistake,” Mother spat suddenly.

The world froze.

“What?” I whispered.

“You heard me,” she said. “You were never supposed to exist. Amara was our perfect child. Then you came along and ruined everything.”

“Vivienne,” Father said, though his voice held no real protest.

“She’s a parasite,” Mother continued. “Clinging to your brothers like a leech. Acting like we’re the villains when we gave her everything.”

“You didn’t give me love,” I said quietly. “You didn’t give me safety. You let her hurt me. Over and over.”

“She’s the one crying,” Mother pointed. “And you’re out here playing the martyr again.”

“You think you deserve sympathy?” Grandma added. “When you can’t even show gratitude?”

“She doesn’t belong at our table,” Amara whispered, just loudly enough. “She never did.”

Mother took a step closer, eyes ablaze. “If I could go back in time, I would’ve left you in that hospital nursery. Let someone else raise you. Someone who could stand to look at you.”

“You’re a burden,” Father said. “Always have been.”

“I didn’t ask to be born,” I said, voice trembling.

“You shouldn’t have been,” Mother hissed. “You ruined this family. You embarrassed us. You’ve done nothing but take, take, take.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“From now on,” she said, “you don’t leave this house without permission. You don’t talk to guests. You don’t see your brothers unless I say so. And if you raise your voice to me again, you’ll be sorry.”

“Do you understand?” Father barked.

I nodded, blinking back tears.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Louder.”

“Yes,” I said again, louder this time.

“Clean this mess,” Mother snapped. “And stay out of our sight.”

They turned away like I was nothing. Amara cast one last smug smile before skipping after them.

I dropped to my knees again, numb. The herbs I had nurtured were trampled beneath Amara’s stunt. The dirt beneath me soaked up my silence.

I stayed there until the sun began to set.

No one came to check on me.

Not even Nena this time.

[Diary Entry ]

I used to think there was something wrong with me for wanting love. For craving it like air.

Now I know what’s wrong isn’t me.

It’s them.

I don’t think a person should have to prove they deserve to be seen.

And yet, here I am. Invisible again.

Maybe one day they’ll notice I’m gone.

But probably not.

Because love, in this house, is only for the ones who smile the brightest.

And I’ve run out of smiles.