Chapter 5
1255 Words
The morning light felt too bright, too sharp, slipping through the curtains and landing directly on Ava’s face as if the universe had chosen her as its target. She blinked against it, head heavy, the residue of last night still clinging to her chest. Her father’s words replayed again—
Go to your room and stay there, like you always should
The sentence felt like it had been carved into her ribs overnight.
She sat up slowly, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand. A text from Ethan.
Ethan: Morning Babe.
Ava: Hiiii wondered when you’d text
Ethan: Sorry, Got caught up with things
Ava: oh, well come over today, been a while we’d been together
Ethan: Oh no babe, we can meet out but not at your house, for now at least
Ava hesitated, reading the message twice. Something was off. He never texted this late. He never sounded… tentative.
She typed a quick reply.
Ava: Sure. After breakfast?
He didn’t respond right away.
Another bad sign.
Ava slipped out of bed and cracked her door open. The hallway was quiet. She could hear faint movement from the kitchen — her mother, probably trying too hard to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. She considered checking on Iris… but paused. She didn’t know what Iris had heard. She didn’t know what she wanted to know.
And honesty felt dangerous this morning.
Ava got ready quietly, pulled her bag over her shoulder, and skipping breakfast, left with the same tightness in her throat that had woken her.
_______________
He stood outside the small café near the town mall, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, watching people drift in and out like they didn’t have entire lives collapsing behind closed doors. His stomach was in knots — an uncomfortable mix of guilt, adrenaline, and something he wasn’t ready to name.
Ava arrived with her usual bright smile, but he saw immediately that it didn’t quite reach her eyes. That faint wobble in it made his chest feel heavy.
“Ava,” he said, stepping forward.
She leaned in for a hug, and he gave it to her, but his arms felt stiff. Controlled. Not like him.
She pulled back slightly, eyes searching. “Are you okay? Yesterday you were… distracted.”
He swallowed. Hard. There it was.
“I was tired,” he lied automatically.
Her brow furrowed. “Ethan, you don’t lie to me.”
His heart thudded once, painfully. He forced a soft smile, tried to smooth the truth’s sharp edges.
“I’m not lying. I just—didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”
Ava’s expression softened, the way he knew it would. Compassion, immediate and deep. It made him feel worse, not better.
She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “You could’ve told me. You don’t have to hide that.”
He nearly flinched.
If only she knew what part he was actually hiding.
“I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
But Ava wasn’t done. Her gaze sharpened, just slightly. “And when you went to get the lotion? You were gone longer than you said you’d be. Did something happen?”
His breath caught.
A flicker—one second of hesitation—before he shook his head.
“Nothing happened.”
And Ava felt it. The lie. Again.
Something in her expression cracked, but she nodded anyway, choosing silence over confrontation. Not because she believed him, but because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the truth.
________________
The house was a quiet hum that morning, the kind that made Iris feel like she was walking underwater. She sat at the dining table with a bowl of cereal she wasn't eating, stirring slowly, listening to the faint clinks echo in the kitchen like someone else was doing them.
Her mother moved around her carefully — too gently — placing things down like Iris might shatter.
“Did you sleep well?” her mother asked, voice soft, steadying.
Iris nodded. Another lie. She had lain awake for hours, staring at the friend request glowing on her screen like a warning or a dare.
She hadn’t accepted it.
She hadn’t ignored it.
She just… let it sit.
Her dad walked in midway through breakfast, eyes tired, jaw tight as if the night had chewed on him. He said nothing. Not to her. Not to her mother. He poured himself coffee and walked out.
The silence between her parents felt like a bruise spreading across the walls.
Iris slipped away to her room, closing the door softly. She sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her phone.
The friend request was still there.
She tapped the screen lightly with her thumb but didn’t press down. Her chest tightened with confusion she didn’t want to name.
A quiet knock sounded on her half-closed door.
Not Ava’s. Too firm. Too deliberate.
“Iris?”
Her father’s voice, low, roughened at the edges.
Her breath stalled. “Yeah?”
Thomas stepped inside just slightly — not enough to intrude, not enough to retreat. He stood in the doorway like someone afraid of crossing a line that didn’t exist before she came home.
“I wanted to… check on you,” he said.
People said that gently. He said it like a confession.
“I’m okay,” Iris answered, because it was easier than the truth.
He studied her—really studied her—for the first time since she returned. His expression wasn’t angry this time. It was something heavier. Something she didn’t know how to look at.
“I know yesterday was…” He paused, swallowing. “You heard us, didn’t you?”
“I always hear things,” Iris whispered before she could stop herself.
His eyes closed briefly, the words hitting him somewhere unarmored.
“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to make this easy for you. Or for any of us.”
Iris’s fingers knotted in her blanket. “You don’t have to.”
“I do,” he murmured. “You’re my daughter.”
The sentence should’ve landed softly. Instead, it felt like it trembled under its own weight.
He hesitated, then added—barely audible:
“I lost you once. I’m afraid I’ll… make a mistake, or someone else will and I’ll lose you again.”
Iris’s throat tightened painfully.
“Dad, I’m not going anywhere, I’m older now” she said, even though she wasn’t completely sure it was true.
Thomas nodded, but something in his eyes said he didn’t fully believe her.
A small moment.
A fragile one.
Then he stepped back.
“I’ll give you space,” he murmured. “But if you ever want to talk… I’m here. Even if I don’t always know how to say things right.”
The door clicked softly behind him.
And for the first time since she’d come home, Iris felt the shape of her father’s fear — and how much of it was shaped like her.
As he left, Iris eased deeper into the bed and finally let her thumb press down on the notification box.
The request opened.
Her breath caught.
Her finger hovered.
Then—
Accept.
The screen flashed, sealing something she couldn’t undo.
Iris stared at the display, heart pounding, knowing without fully understanding that Ethan would feel this moment like a spark.
Somewhere across town, his phone would light up.
And something will shift for all three of them.
- Writer
