CHAPTER 16: THE ONE WHO LIVED
1364 Words
(Aurora’s POV)
People call me balanced.
They say it like it’s a compliment.
Like it’s a gift.
They don’t know balance is what you learn when one wrong move costs a life.
I wake up to silence.
It used to be different.
Three years ago, mornings meant two toothbrushes clinking against the sink. Two voices arguing over who finished the cereal. Two footsteps racing down the stairs.
Now it’s just me.
The survivor.
I lie there staring at the ceiling.
Sometimes I wonder if he would’ve been stronger than me.
If he would’ve handled the guilt better.
If Mum would still love him the way she loved him then.
I already know the answer.
The kitchen smells like burnt toast.
My mother stands at the counter, back straight, movements sharp.
She doesn’t turn when I enter.
“You’re awake,” she says.
Not good morning.
Just confirmation that I still exist.
“Yes, ma.”
I sit down carefully.
The chair scrapes too loudly against the tile.
She flinches.
Not because of the sound.
Because it’s me.
She sets a plate in front of me.
The fork hits porcelain too hard.
“You’re eating?” she asks coldly.
I look down.
“Yes.”
She laughs.
Short. Bitter.
“Of course you are.”
I don’t respond.
I’ve learned that silence is safer.
But today—
Today something inside me is already fragile.
“You slept well?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Her head turns slowly.
Her eyes meet mine.
And there’s no grief there.
Only accusation.
“You always do,” she says.
The words land like poison.
“I—”
“You sleep. You wake up. You breathe. You go to school. You laugh with your friends.” Her voice rises slightly. “Amazing how life continues so easily for you.”
“It’s not easy,” I whisper.
She slams her palm on the counter.
“Don’t lie to me!”
The sound echoes.
“You think I don’t see it? How quickly you adjusted? How normal you became?”
Normal.
If she knew.
“If anyone should have died that night—” She stops herself.
The air thickens.
I stop breathing.
But she doesn’t stop thinking.
She looks at me.
Really looks.
And finishes it.
“It should have been you.”
The world goes quiet.
My ears ring.
I don’t even feel the tears until they fall.
“Mum…”
“You were the careless one!” she snaps. “Sneaking out like some desperate girl chasing a boy who didn’t even respect you!”
Each word is surgical.
“You dragged him into that mess!”
“I didn’t ask him to come,” I say, voice shaking.
“No,” she spits. “He came because he loved you. Because he always cleaned up after your mistakes!”
That hurts more than the rest.
Because it’s true.
He always did.
“You think I don’t replay that night?” she continues. “You think I don’t see my son burning every time I close my eyes?”
Her voice cracks—but not with softness.
With rage.
“You came home covered in soot and blood and he didn’t.”
I feel small.
Shrinking.
“I tried to go back,” I whisper.
She laughs again.
“Try?” Her eyes blaze. “Try? Trying doesn’t unburn a body, Aurora!”
My name sounds like a curse in her mouth.
“You walked away,” she hisses. “You left him in that car.”
“I didn’t leave him!” I scream, breaking for the first time.
“He pushed me out!”
“And you stayed out.”
That sentence knocks the breath from me.
“You stayed out,” she repeats slowly. “Because somewhere inside you… you chose yourself.”
I shake my head violently.
“No.”
“Yes.” She steps closer. “You chose to live.”
The guilt floods back full force.
“I didn’t want to—”
“But you did.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re here.”
The silence after that is unbearable.
She straightens.
Cold again.
“You walk around like you’re some composed, mature girl,” she says. “People probably think you’re strong.”
I say nothing.
“They don’t know you destroyed this family.”
The words don’t just hurt.
They brand.
“I lost my son,” she says quietly. “And I have to wake up every day and look at the reason why.”
That’s the one.
That’s the blade that goes in deepest.
I can’t stand there anymore.
I walk away.
She doesn’t stop me.
She never does.
His room still smells faintly like him.
Or maybe that’s just memory playing tricks.
I close the door behind me and collapse to the floor.
The breakdown isn’t graceful.
It’s violent.
My chest heaves.
My nails dig into my palms.
“I’m sorry,” I sob into the carpet. “I’m so sorry.”
I see it again.
The headlights.
The crash.
His hands pushing me.
His voice yelling.
The flames.
The explosion swallowing everything.
“I should’ve stayed,” I whisper. “I should’ve burned with you.”
The thought doesn’t scare me anymore.
It feels logical.
Fair.
“I don’t deserve to be here,” I murmur.
And that’s the truth no one knows.
At school, they see balance.
At home, I am the mistake that lived.
By the time I reach school, my face is perfect.
Controlled.
Neutral.
Dawn is mid-drama. Yemisi is tense. Emeka is loud.
And someone says—
“You’re so emotionally stable, Aurora. I wish I was like you.”
Something inside me detonates.
“Do you?” I ask quietly.
She laughs.
“I mean— yeah.”
“Do you?” I repeat, louder.
The hallway stills.
Dawn turns.
Yemisi’s eyes narrow.
“Do you want to wake up every day knowing someone died because of you?” I snap.
The girl’s face drains.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Then stop talking.”
My voice shakes with fury.
“With assumptions. With nonsense. With your shallow idea of strength.”
Dawn grabs my arm gently.
“Rora—”
“Don’t touch me!”
The silence is deadly.
Even Yemisi looks shaken.
Because I don’t lose control.
Ever.
I walk away before the tears betray me.
Into the practice room.
Door shut.
And the words spill again.
“I killed him.”
Over and over.
Like a chant.
Like a confession.
The door opens.
Chidera steps in.
He sees me on the floor.
Broken.
Unbalanced.
Human.
“I should’ve died,” I whisper without looking up.
He kneels in front of me.
His voice is steady.
“No.”
“My mum’s right,” I murmur. “It should’ve been me.”
His jaw tightens.
“She’s grieving.”
“She hates me.”
“No,” he says firmly. “She hates what she lost.”
I look up at him.
“I’m the reminder.”
He doesn’t deny it.
He doesn’t lie.
Instead he moves closer.
“You were a child,” he says softly.
“I went out for a stupid boy,” I choke.
“That doesn’t make you a murderer.”
I shake.
“I left him.”
“You were thrown out.”
“I could’ve gone back sooner.”
“You tried.”
“I wasn’t strong enough.”
His voice deepens slightly.
“You survived.”
“I didn’t deserve to.”
He finally pulls me into him.
Not hesitant.
Not unsure.
Certain.
“You don’t get punished for surviving,” he whispers into my hair.
I grip his shirt.
“I see the fire every time I close my eyes.”
“Then don’t close them alone.”
That breaks me completely.
Because no one has ever offered to stay inside the nightmare with me.
And in his arms—
For a moment—
I don’t feel like the villain of my own story.
Just a girl who made a mistake.
And lived.
- Writer
