Olivia’s POV
The house felt different after that night.
Quieter.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—but the kind that presses against walls and seeps into bones.
I drifted through the living room, the place where I used to sit on the edge of the couch, hoping someone would notice me. The curtains were half-drawn. Dust floated in the afternoon light. The clock ticked too loudly.
My mother sat on the sofa, holding one of my sweaters in her lap.
It was the pale blue one I wore the day I told her I wasn’t feeling well.
Back then, she had barely looked up from her phone.
Now her fingers trembled as they traced the fabric.
“She said she was cold that day,” Mom whispered, staring at nothing. “I told her to stop pretending.”
Her voice cracked.
My father stood near the window, rigid, as if h
