Dark Mirror and Twisted Truth

Leaving

SELENE

I'm in front of my house, staring blankly as I remember how lively it is to live here before. What went wrong?

Gathering the little courage I had— I slowly pushed the gates open and walked inside. I saw the plants slowly wilting, their leaves curled and brittle, as if they, too, had given up waiting for someone to care. The garden used to be Mom’s pride— every corner bursting with color, every stem trimmed with love. Now, it feels like a quiet graveyard of what we once were.

I stepped further in, my footsteps echoing too loudly against the empty stillness. The air inside the house smelled different—stale, unfamiliar, like it no longer belonged to us. Or maybe I was the one who didn’t belong anymore.

I froze near the hallway when I heard my dad's soft and gentle voice, my hand gripping the wall for balance as his words drifted from the living room. He was on the phone.

“Yeah… yeah, I saw it. It’s beautiful,” he said, his tone lighter than I had heard in months. “Way better than this place. We’ll move there soon… somewhere quieter, prettier.”

Prettier. The word echoed in my chest.

I took a slow step closer, my heart pounding louder with every second. I shouldn’t listen. I knew that. But my feet refused to move away. “And Selene will come with me,” he added, so casually it made my stomach drop. “Of course. I won’t leave this sick behind.”

My fingers tightened against the wall. Then his voice softened even more—so soft it almost broke me. “I miss you too,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. You won’t have to worry about a thing, okay?” I heard his quiet chuckle.

“I’ll see you soon… yeah. Take care, okay? Goodnight.” The call ended.

Silence rushed back in, heavier than before. I stood there, unable to breathe properly, my chest tightening as the truth settled in like a slow, sinking weight. He wasn’t just moving, he was leaving everything behind. Including her, including Mom.

“I’ll leave this place soon,” he had said once, when he thought I wasn’t listening. “Everything here… it just holds too many memories.” Too many memories.

I looked around—the faded couch where Mom used to sit, the dining table where we laughed over burnt dinners, the walls still carrying traces of her touch. This house wasn’t just wood and concrete. It was her. And he was ready to walk away from all of it with me and leave her behind.

My throat tightened as I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to steady the ache spreading inside me. How could he do that? How could he just… erase her like she was nothing more than a memory too painful to keep? I wanted to scream. To ask him if he remembered the way she used to smile in this very room. If he remembered how this house once felt alive.

But no sound came out. Because deep down, I realized something even worse, that he wasn’t even asking me if I wanted to leave, he had already decided. And I was just… going with him.