Secrets

Chapter 11 - Answers

Mia woke to the pale morning light seeping through her curtains, its muted glow casting long shadows across the room. It was the kind of light that made everything feel unreal, as though the world itself had decided to take on a ghostly pallor to match her mood.

Her body ached as she sat up, every muscle protesting the movement. She felt like she'd been wrung out, like someone had drained every ounce of strength and left her hollow. The events of the previous night replayed in her mind like fragments of a bad dream, each piece more jagged than the last.

Eliza's words echoed, soft but resolute:
"Get some rest. We'll explain everything tomorrow."

Tomorrow was now today, but the promise felt distant, like a lifeline she wasn't sure she wanted to grab.

The silence in the house was oppressive, wrapping around her like a smothering blanket. Her parents were early risers, always bustling about with an air of self-importance, but this morning, the quiet felt deliberate, like they were waiting for her to emerge.

She glanced at her phone resting on the nightstand, the black screen reflecting her weary expression. Her thumb hovered over Eliza's contact, then Matt's, but she hesitated. The thought of reaching out felt impossible, the anger and betrayal still too raw to confront.

Her gaze drifted to the door, and her stomach churned as the memory of last night's fight with her parents surged back.

They had been waiting for her when she got home, perched stiffly in the living room like judges ready to pass a sentence.

"You're acting out again, Mia," her father had said, his voice clipped and cold. He didn't even look up from his newspaper, as though her existence was barely worth acknowledging.

"You're obsessing over things that aren't real."

Her mother had chimed in, her tone laced with that infuriating veneer of concern. "Maybe we should call Dr. Perkins. It might be time to consider going back to Horizons for a little while. You know how much it helped last time."

"Helped?" Mia had snapped, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You dumped me there because you didn't want to deal with me!"

"Watch your tone, young lady," her father had snapped, his newspaper finally dropping to reveal his icy glare. "We're doing what's best for you."

Mia's hands had clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms.

"What's best for me?" she shouted, her voice cracking under the weight of her frustration. "You left me there for six months because I was grieving! I wasn't crazy—I was hurt!"

Her mother's mask of concern slipped for just a moment, revealing the hard edge beneath.

"Well, maybe if you didn't spiral every time something doesn't go your way, we wouldn't have to take these steps."

The words had hit her like a slap, her breath catching in her throat. Without another word, she'd stormed upstairs, slamming the guest room door behind her so hard the walls had seemed to shake.

Now, as she sat on the edge of the bed, the memory of their accusations clung to her like a second skin. Her hands trembled, her nails still raw from where they'd pressed into her palms.

The smell of coffee drifted upstairs, a telltale sign that her mother was already in the kitchen. No doubt she'd donned her perfect homemaker façade, cooking a breakfast Mia wouldn't touch and pretending last night hadn't happened.

It was easier that way for them—pretending. Ignoring the cracks while plastering over the surface.

Mia stood, every step toward the door feeling like walking into battle. She knew what awaited her downstairs: strained smiles, forced pleasantries, and a growing pile of unsaid words that would suffocate her if she let them.