Chapter Three
1108 Words
The moment Ava got home, her strength finally gave out. It was as if something inside her cracked. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was a quiet, internal collapse—the kind that happens when you finally reach safety after holding yourself together for too long.
She slipped off her shoes without a word and walked slowly toward her room, dragging her small suitcase behind her. Each step felt heavier than the last. Her body was exhausted, but it was her heart that felt completely spent. She didn’t bother switching on the lights or unpacking her bag. She walked straight into her room, dropped her purse on the floor, and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight.
Jim watched her closely but said nothing.
He noticed the way her shoulders slumped, how her eyes avoided his, how she moved like someone afraid that one wrong word would shatter her. Every instinct in him screamed to ask questions, to demand answers, to rage on her behalf—but he held himself back.
Outside her room, Jim stood for a long moment, his hand resting against her door.
He had so many questions.
What happened in Singapore?
Why did she come back so suddenly?
Why did she look like someone who had lost everything?
But he didn’t knock.
Jim knew his sister well enough to understand that pushing her now would only make her retreat further into herself. Ava had always been like this—she needed time, space, and silence before she could speak.
I’ll wait, he told himself. She’ll talk when she’s ready.
He walked away quietly.
Ava curled into herself, hugging a pillow tightly against her chest as silent tears soaked into the fabric. She didn’t sob. She didn’t wail. She just lay there, broken and numb, staring at the wall as her mind replayed everything she had tried so hard to bury.
Ray’s face.
The boy’s voice.
The woman’s smile.
Daddy.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“I was stupid,” she whispered hoarsely. “So stupid.”
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she drifted into a restless sleep filled with fragmented dreams and sharp awakenings.
Outside her room, Jim stood still.
He had come to check on her again, his hand hovering inches away from the door. He could hear her soft breathing now—uneven but steady. She was asleep.
Good.
Jim leaned his forehead briefly against the door, closing his eyes.
Ever since their parents had died, he had taken it upon himself to be Ava’s protector. He wasn’t perfect at it, but he tried. And seeing her like this—quiet, withdrawn, hurting—made something twist painfully in his chest.
Whatever happened in Singapore, he thought grimly, someone is going to pay for it.
But not yet.
For now, she needed rest. Not interrogation.
A few hours later, Jim was in the kitchen when his phone rang.
Vincent.
He didn’t hesitate before answering.
“Hey, man,” Jim said.
“Are you guys back home?” Vincent asked immediately, his voice tense.
“Yes,” Jim replied. “Not quite long ago.”
There was a pause. Jim could practically hear Vincent’s thoughts racing on the other end of the line.
“How’s she?” Vincent asked finally, concern heavy in his tone.
Jim sighed. “She went straight to her room. Crashed on the bed.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“That bad?” Vincent murmured.
Jim leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face. “Worse.”
Vincent exhaled slowly. “I knew something was wrong. She wouldn’t just disappear like that without a reason.”
“She hasn’t said anything yet,” Jim continued. “I didn’t ask.”
“That’s good,” Vincent said firmly. “Don’t push her. Ava needs space when she’s hurt.”
“I know,” Jim replied quietly. “I just hate seeing her like this.”
“So do I,” Vincent said without hesitation. “You know she’s like a kid sister to me.”
Jim chuckled faintly. “Everyone knows. You’ve always had a soft spot for her.”
“Since forever,” Vincent admitted. “Ever since your parents passed, I promised myself I’d look out for you both.”
Jim’s throat tightened slightly at the mention of their parents.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “It means a lot.”
“I’ll come by after work,” Vincent added. “Just to see her. No pressure. Even if she doesn’t want to talk.”
“She’ll appreciate that,” Jim said. “Even if she pretends she doesn’t.”
Vincent laughed softly. “Yeah. That’s Ava.”
They talked a bit longer—about work, about small things that didn’t really matter—before ending the call.
Jim placed his phone down and glanced toward Ava’s room again.
Still quiet.
Inside the room, Ava stirred.
She woke slowly, disoriented for a moment, before reality settled heavily back onto her chest. Her eyes burned from crying, her head throbbed, and her throat felt raw.
She sat up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest.
The silence was deafening.
In Singapore, everything had been loud—traffic, unfamiliar voices, Ray’s lies echoing endlessly in her head. Here, the quiet felt different. It wasn’t threatening. It was gentle.
Still, it scared her.
She reached for her phone instinctively, then froze.
Ray was blocked.
Everywhere.
The finality of it hit her again, sharp and painful.
Ava swallowed hard.
Three years.
Three years of love, trust, plans, promises.
And it had all been a lie.
Her eyes drifted to the framed photo on her bedside table—her parents smiling brightly, Jim and Vincent standing behind them, arms slung casually over each other’s shoulders, Ava in the middle, grinning without a care in the world.
Her chest ached.
“If you were here,” she whispered, “this wouldn’t hurt so much.”
She lay back down, staring at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sounds of the house—the hum of the fridge, Jim moving around quietly, the distant bark of a neighbor’s dog.
Home.
She was home.
Yet her heart still felt stranded somewhere far away, trapped in a memory she couldn’t erase.
She didn’t know how long she lay there before sleep pulled her under again.
But one thing was certain.
This was only the beginning of her healing.
And somewhere, far removed from this quiet house, fate was already preparing to pull her back into a world she didn’t yet know she belonged in.
- Writer
