Home

The living room was chaos.

A young Elena Cruz sat trembling in the corner, her small hands pressed tightly against her ears.

It wasn't helping.

The shouting still got through.

Her parents stood in the middle of the room, throwing words at each other like weapons.

Every sentence seemed louder than the last.

Every accusation sharper.

Nearby, her grandmother watched with folded arms, occasionally adding comments that only made the argument worse.

Her two older sisters desperately tried to calm everyone down.

Nobody listened.

Nobody ever listened.

Tears streamed down Elena's face as she clutched her baby brother against her chest.

The infant cried loudly, frightened by the tension filling the house.

Elena squeezed her eyes shut.

She wished the voices would stop.

She wished everyone would stop.

She wished she could disappear.

Then suddenly—

ELENA!

The voice echoed.

Louder.

Closer.

ELENA!

Her eyes shot open.

She gasped for air and sat upright in bed.

For a moment, she couldn't tell where she was.

Her heart hammered painfully against her chest.

Sweat clung to her skin.

Her hands trembled beneath the blanket.

The room was dark except for the faint orange glow of the evening sun slipping through the curtains.

A familiar face stood beside her bed.

Her mother.

Mrs. Cruz looked at her with concern.

Mrs. Cruz: Elena, sweetheart, wake up. Why are you sleeping at this hour? It's already seven in the evening.

Elena blinked several times before finally recognizing reality.

Not the past.

Not the nightmare.

Reality.

Mrs. Cruz: I told you not to nap this late. You won't be able to sleep tonight.

Elena: Yeah, Mom... I was just tired.

Mrs. Cruz sat beside her and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from her face.

The simple gesture almost made Elena cry.

Almost.

Mrs. Cruz: What is it this time?

Elena looked away.

Mrs. Cruz: Something's stressing you out again, isn't it? Tell Mama.

For a moment, Elena considered it.

Telling her.

About the pressure.

The constant worry.

The fear that no matter how hard she worked, it would never be enough.

But then she noticed the tiredness hidden behind her mother's smile.

The faint dark circles beneath her eyes.

The way she rubbed her wrist when she thought nobody was looking.

Her mother already carried enough.

Elena: No. It's nothing.

Mrs. Cruz: Elena—

Elena: Really. I was just sleepy.

Mrs. Cruz studied her for a moment before sighing.

Mrs. Cruz: Alright. Dinner's ready downstairs. Come if you're hungry.

She leaned forward and kissed Elena's forehead.

Then she left.

The room fell silent.

Elena stared at the closed door.

Sometimes she wondered how her mother still found the strength to smile.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Her phone vibrated on the bedside table.

She glanced at the screen.

Dad.

Immediately, a headache began forming behind her eyes.

She answered.

Elena: Hello?

Mr. Cruz: Elena, sweetheart! Come over. I made chicken curry tonight.

His voice sounded cheerful.

Too cheerful.

Mr. Cruz: It's delicious. Come have dinner with me.

Elena rubbed her forehead.

Elena: Dad... Mom already made dinner.

A brief silence followed.

Then—

Mr. Cruz: So you're choosing her dinner over mine?

There it was.

The guilt.

From the background, another familiar voice appeared.

Grandmother: Of course she is! That woman turned all your children against you.

Elena immediately closed her eyes.

Not again.

Please not again.

Grandmother: Ever since the divorce, she's poisoned them against their own father.

Mr. Cruz: Maybe you're right.

Elena's chest tightened.

Mr. Cruz: Do whatever you want, Elena. I can't force anyone.

The call ended.

She slowly lowered the phone.

The room suddenly felt heavier.

Downstairs, her mother's dinner waited.

Across the city, her father's dinner waited.

Two homes.

Two parents.

Two expectations.

And somehow, she was always stuck in the middle.

No matter which choice she made, someone would feel abandoned.

Someone would be hurt.

Someone would blame her.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Elena: This is never-ending drama.

The bedroom door suddenly burst open.

Tom: Elena!

She nearly jumped.

Her younger brother stood in the doorway with a game controller in his hand.

Tom: Wanna play Zingers with me?

For a second, she simply stared at him.

Then everything she had been holding in all day exploded.

Elena: DON'T YOU HAVE EXAMS THIS MONTH?!

Tom froze.

Elena: GO STUDY! STOP WASTING OUR PARENTS' MONEY AND DO SOMETHING USEFUL FOR ONCE!

The excitement instantly disappeared from his face.

The room fell silent.

Tom: Why do you always talk to me like that?

The question hit harder than Elena expected.

Tom: I was just asking.

Tom lowered his gaze.

Then quietly walked away.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Elena stared at the door.

Immediately, guilt settled in her chest.

Tom wasn't the reason she was angry.

He never was.

Yet somehow he always ended up on the receiving end of it.

She buried her face in her hands.

Elena: Oh God...

Her voice cracked.

Elena: I need a break.

Outside her bedroom window, the city lights slowly began to glow.

Another evening.

MEANWHILE -

On the other side of the city...

The Bennett residence stood tall against the evening sky.

A mansion so large it looked more like a luxury hotel than a family home.

Every window glowed warmly.

Every corner was spotless.

Every detail screamed perfection.

Yet somehow, the house felt empty.

Inside, the Bennett family sat around a long dining table.

Expensive dishes covered its surface.

Freshly prepared food.

Crystal glasses.

Polished silverware.

Everything looked flawless.

Everything except the atmosphere.

One chair remained empty.

Noah Bennett's chair.

Nobody touched it.

Nobody moved it.

It simply sat there like an unspoken problem everyone was pretending not to notice.

Mr. Bennett glanced at his watch before setting it down with an irritated sigh.

Mr. Bennett: Where is that boy?

Mrs. Bennett: I called him six times already.

She checked her phone once more.

No answer.

No reply.

Nothing.

Mrs. Bennett: Honestly, I don't know what goes through his head.

Across the table sat Daniel Bennett.

Twenty-two years old.

Successful.

Responsible.

The son every parent dreamed of having.

At least, that's what everyone told him.

Daniel: He'll come home eventually.

Mr. Bennett: That's not the point.

His voice was sharp.

Controlled.

The kind of voice that made people immediately sit straighter.

Mr. Bennett: Unlike Noah, some people understand responsibility.

Daniel lowered his eyes.

A familiar feeling settled in his chest.

Discomfort.

Every time his father praised him, it somehow felt like Noah was being punished.

And every time Noah was criticized, Daniel felt guilty for reasons he couldn't explain.

Daniel: He's still young.

Mr. Bennett: Seventeen is old enough to understand basic discipline.

Silence followed.

Mrs. Bennett quickly changed the subject.

Mrs. Bennett: So, Daniel, what happened with the software acquisition?

Daniel visibly relaxed.

Work was easier than family.

Work made sense.

People didn't.

Daniel: The investors approved the proposal.

Mrs. Bennett: Really?

Daniel: We still need final signatures, but everything should be completed by next week.

A smile appeared on Mr. Bennett's face.

A rare one.

Mr. Bennett: Excellent.

Daniel nodded.

Mr. Bennett: I knew I could count on you.

The words were meant as praise.

Yet somehow they felt heavy.

Because everyone at that table knew exactly who those words weren't meant for.

The empty chair remained untouched.

---

Across town, under bright floodlights and loud music, Noah Bennett was having the time of his life.

Or at least pretending to.

The basketball court buzzed with energy.

Shoes squeaked against concrete.

Friends laughed.

A ball bounced repeatedly across the court.

For a few hours, Noah could almost forget everything waiting for him at home.

Almost.

The ball left his hands.

Swish.

Another perfect shot.

Mike: Show-off.

Noah: Jealousy doesn't look good on you.

Mike: Says the guy who practices every day.

Noah laughed.

A real laugh.

One of the few genuine things left in his life.

Nearby, Jonathan checked his phone.

His expression immediately changed.

Jonathan: Noah.

Noah: Hmm?

Jonathan: Do you realize what time it is?

Noah glanced up at the sky.

Then shrugged.

Noah: Late?

Jonathan: It's ten o'clock.

Mike: You're dead.

Noah: Dramatic.

Jonathan: Your parents have probably been calling you for hours.

Noah spun the basketball on one finger.

Noah: Let me guess.

He smirked.

Noah: They're not worried about me.

They're worried about my test results.

Mike immediately burst out laughing.

Jonathan didn't.

Because he knew Noah wasn't joking.

Mike: Speaking of which...

He crossed his arms.

Mike: Didn't you fail that test?

Noah grinned.

Noah: Yep.

Mike: Unbelievable.

Jonathan: Why are you smiling?

Noah: Because life is funny.

Jonathan: No, it isn't.

Noah: It is when you stop caring.

Jonathan stared at him.

He hated when Noah talked like that.

Because beneath every joke was something neither of them wanted to discuss.

Jonathan: You're actually smart, Noah.

Noah: Tragic, isn't it?

Jonathan: Then why do you keep doing this?

Noah's smile faded for half a second.

Only half.

Long enough for Jonathan to notice.

Not long enough for Mike to.

Noah: Maybe I enjoy annoying my father.

Mike: That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.

Noah: Thank you.

Mike: Seriously. You purposely fail exams just to make your dad angry?

Noah: Pretty much.

Mike: You're insane.

Noah: And yet we're still friends.

Mike rolled his eyes.

Then threw the ball at Noah.

Mike: One more game.

Noah: That's what I'm talking about.

Noah caught the ball effortlessly and jogged back onto the court.

Everyone else laughed.

Everyone except Jonathan.

He stood where he was.

Watching.

Worried.

Because unlike Mike, Jonathan knew Noah better than anyone.

They had grown up together.

Lived next door to each other.

Shared countless summers.

Countless secrets.

And lately...

Noah's smiles felt different.

They looked real.

But they never reached his eyes.

Jonathan stared at him as he ran across the court.

Laughing.

Joking.

Acting carefree.

And for the first time that evening, Jonathan found himself wondering if Noah was actually okay.

The answer scared him.

Because deep down, he already knew it wasn't.

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