"Mom?" I asked cautiously, sitting up. Something about her unease made my stomach churn. "Is something wrong?"
She shook her head quickly, a strained smile tugging at her lips. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart." Her tone was bright, too bright. "I'm sure he's just caught up with something."
I sat up straighter, narrowing my eyes. "You don't have to pretend, you know. I hear you guys."
Her breath caught, and she froze for a moment before looking back at me. "What do you mean?"
I let out a dry laugh, though there wasn't much humor in it. "The whisper-arguments. You think I don't notice? You two fight every time he's here. It's impossible not to hear."
She flinched, gripping the back of the chair by the door. Her knuckles turned white as she stared at the floor. Finally, she said, "It's… complicated."
I rolled my eyes, frustration bubbling up. "It always is."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, it seemed like she might argue. Instead, she stepped closer, brushing a hand through my hair. The gesture was small, but it lingered, and something in her touch made my throat tighten.
"Don't think about it too much, okay?" she said softly. "This isn't for you to deal with."
I opened my mouth to argue, to push for more, but the look in her eyes stopped me. So I nodded instead, leaning slightly into her touch.
She straightened and pulled her hand back, forcing another smile. "I'll finish up downstairs. Try to get some sleep."
I watched her leave, the faint sound of her humming drifting back up the stairs. But even after she was gone, the air in the room felt heavy, and I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more she wasn't telling me.
I lay back down, staring at the ceiling again. The pit in my stomach that had been there since this afternoon grew heavier.
Something was changing, and I wasn't sure if I liked it.
The knock on my door the next morning startled me. My pulse quickened as my mom's voice came through, soft but with an edge that made my stomach tighten.
"Hey, sweetheart? Can we talk?"
The door creaked open, and my mom stepped inside. She looked at me, her smile tight, like she was already bracing for a storm. Her shoulders were stiff, but she tried to play it casual, sitting on the edge of my bed. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and I could tell she was choosing her words carefully.
"How are things going with Aunt Sevika?" she asked lightly, but the tension in her tone made my skin prickle.
I frowned, caught off guard. "Fine," I said, shrugging. "Great, actually. Sevika's awesome."
She hesitated for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line before she spoke again. "Your dad and I were thinking... maybe it's time we looked into hiring a babysitter instead. Sevika's work can be unpredictable, and we want to make sure you have someone reliable."
The words hit me like a slap. My jaw dropped, and I stared at her, my stomach twisting. "A babysitter?" I repeated, my voice already rising.
"Yes," she said, her tone careful, like she was trying to coax a wild animal. "Someone who can be there consistently. Someone who can focus on you."
I shot to my feet, my heart pounding. "I don't need a babysitter! I have Sevika!"
She blinked, her smile faltering, but she tried to stay calm. "Sevika might not always be able to take care of you, sweetheart. She has a lot on her plate—things you don't really understand right now."
"You don't understand!" I snapped, heat rising in my chest. "She's always there for me! She actually cares about me!"
"I care about you too!" she shot back, her voice sharper now. "That's why I'm saying this. It's about what's best for you—"
"No, it's not!" I interrupted, my fists clenching at my sides. "You just don't want me hanging out with her because she's from Zaun!"
"That's not true!" she said quickly, but I could hear the defensive edge in her voice.
"Yes, it is!" I yelled. "You've always hated Zaun! You don't even want me to know anything about it! You want me to stay up here and be your perfect little topside kid!"
Her face flushed with frustration, and she stood up, towering over me. "Grace, that's not fair! Everything I do is for you! I want you to have a better life!"
"Better for who?!" I screamed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "You don't even know me! You think I care about those stupid puppets you keep buying? Or those dumb banana sundaes you always make? I hate them!"
She froze, her eyes wide with shock. "What did you just say?"
"I hate them!" I shouted, tears burning in my eyes. "I hate all of it! You don't know me at all!"
Her hands curled into fists, her voice trembling. "That's enough, Grace. You're being completely unreasonable!"
"No, you're unreasonable!" I fired back, my voice cracking. I was being unreasonable, but I also had a lot of pent up frustration, and my heart felt like it was going to hammer out of my chest. "You don't listen to me! Sevika listens to me! She doesn't treat me like some little kid who doesn't matter!"
Her face twisted in anger and hurt, and she stepped closer. "How dare you talk to me like that?"
"Why not?" I shot back, my chest heaving. "It's the truth! You don't care about what I want! You just care about what makes you feel good!"
Her composure finally snapped, and her voice rose. "I am your mother! Everything I do is for you! You think I don't care? I have done everything to give you a better life!"
"No, you haven't!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face now. "You just want me to act like I'm happy so you can feel good about yourself! You don't even notice me! Sevika does! She actually cares!"
Her face crumpled for a moment, raw pain flashing in her eyes, but then she straightened, her voice icy and trembling. "You're grounded. You will stay in this room until you can learn to speak to me with respect."
"Good!" I screamed back, my throat raw. "I don't want to talk to you anyway!" I stormed past her, slamming the door so hard the frame rattled.
The silence afterward was deafening, my ears ringing with it. I leaned against the door, my chest heaving, tears still burning down my cheeks. I sank to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees as the weight of it all came crashing down.
I wanted to hate her. I wanted to scream until my throat gave out. But deep down, beneath all the anger and frustration, all I could feel was the ache of how much it hurt.
I knew I'd gone too far. The sharp edge of regret already poked at me, but it was drowned out by the fury still twisting in my chest. "Why doesn't she understand?" I muttered to myself, my voice breaking.
I loved Sevika. She treated me like a person, like I was worth listening to—not just some fragile kid who didn't know anything. And I loved my mom, I really did, but she always seemed so... concerned. Not for me, but for everything else—what my dad would think, what the neighbors would say. She worried so much about appearances that she forgot I was here, thinking and feeling too.
I drew in a shaky breath and hugged my knees tighter. My throat ached from yelling, and my heart still felt like it was racing. The words I'd hurled at her replayed in my mind, each one hitting me like a punch. I wanted to take them back, but I didn't know how to fix the mess I'd made.
The hours dragged by, and the house felt like it was holding its breath. Every creak of the floorboards, every muffled sound from downstairs—it all pressed down on me like a weight. I stayed curled up in my room, staring at the wall and listening.
Then it started. The argument.
At first, it was a low hum, their voices barely rising above the constant thrum of tension in the air. But it didn't stay that way for long. My dad's sharp tone cut through the quiet like a knife, followed by my mom's softer voice trying to soothe or explain. It was the same cycle as always, the same dance they did whenever things went wrong.
I closed my eyes tightly, my chest tightening with every angry word exchanged below. The knot in my stomach twisted tighter, and I wanted to cover my ears, but I couldn't stop listening. Their voices rose and fell, a storm brewing just beneath my feet, and all I could do was sit there and let it wash over me.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I hated this. I hated the way they fought behind closed doors, pretending everything was fine when it wasn't. I hated the way they made me feel trapped in the middle, like my whole world was built on shaky ground that could collapse at any moment.
My tears started again, silent this time, as I stared at the ceiling and wished for everything to stop. For just a moment of peace. But deep down, I knew better. This was how it always went, and I was stuck in it, no matter how much I wanted to escape.
"You think grounding her is going to fix this?" my dad's voice was sharp, the frustration leaking through like water through a crack. He almost never sounded like this—controlled, sure, but there was an edge now, one that made me tense.
"She's out of control, Roger!" my mom shot back, her voice shaking. "She's screaming at me, telling me I don't know her! Do you know how much that hurts?"
"Maybe you should listen to her," he said, his tone cold, cutting. "She's not wrong about feeling unheard. You've been so focused on keeping her in line, maybe you forgot she's a person, not some rebellious project to fix."
"Oh, so now this is my fault?" she snapped, her voice breaking. "I'm the one who's here! I'm the one who makes sure she eats, who keeps this house running, who deals with all the messes while you're off pretending everything is fine as long as you're working!"
"You think I don't care?" he fired back, his voice climbing. "I'm out there trying to provide for this family, and you're telling me I don't care? I'm doing everything I can to keep this house together!"
"You're never here!" she yelled, her voice raw. "You don't see how hard this is! You don't see what it's like when she looks at me like I'm the enemy!"
"And whose fault is that, Della? You let her run wild!"
"I'm trying to raise her! She's a child! She's angry and confused, and she needs love, not rules shoved down her throat!"
"Well, maybe if she had better examples, she wouldn't be so difficult," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "But what can you expect, coming from Zaun?"
There was a beat of silence, so heavy it made the air feel too thick to breathe.
"Careful," my mom said, her voice low and dangerous now. "Think very carefully about your next words, Roger."
He let out a bitter laugh, the sound making my stomach twist. "Oh, come on, Della. Let's not pretend we don't know how Zaun works. You grew up in that pit. Survival, desperation, scrapping for whatever you can steal. It's no wonder she's like this. She gets it from you."
"You bastard," she hissed, her voice trembling. "You don't get to talk about my home like that. Not in front of me, and not in front of her."
"Why not? It's the truth, isn't it?" he shot back. "I never wanted that street rat raising my daughter, and look where we are now. She's disrespectful, defiant, and a nightmare to deal with. Just like everyone else from down there."
The silence after those words was louder than the shouting.
"If you ever call Sevika a street rat again," my mom said slowly, each word like a blade, "you won't have to worry about what she thinks of you. You'll have to deal with me."
"Oh, don't start with the dramatics, Della," he said, though his voice faltered slightly.
"You think it's dramatic?" she said, her voice rising again. "You think you can just spit venom like that and walk away without consequences? You don't know a damn thing about what it took to get here. And you sure as hell don't know what it takes to keep this family from falling apart!"
Their voices started to blur after that, overlapping and rising into a crescendo of anger. My chest felt tight, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The anger bubbled up, hot and unbearable, a storm I couldn't contain. I threw off my blanket, yanking on my shoes and jacket with trembling hands. My breaths were shallow, shaky with fury. Quietly, I unlatched the window, the cool night air biting against my flushed face. Without a second thought, I climbed out, the damp ground meeting me with a soft thud.
I didn't know where I was going, only that I had to go. The walls of my house felt like a trap, the arguments like chains dragging me down. Shoving my hands deep into my pockets, I stomped into the night, my feet slamming against the cracked pavement with every step.
Zaun greeted me with its usual cocktail of damp smoke and industrial grime. The air stung my nose, but it barely registered. My mind was a whirlpool of anger and bitter thoughts.
Five years. Five years to fix everything, I thought furiously. But how the hell am I supposed to do that when I can't even get through a day without feeling like I'm going to explode?