The Emptiness She Holds

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Chapter 1: Home

I walked out the white gates in that ugly yellow jumper and cold metallic cuffs.

Finally getting to take it off after three years felt like breathing again.

Yellow isn't exactly every girl's color.
Neither is being framed—and found guilty—for killing your ex-boyfriend.

Did I kill him? Yeah.
Did I put him six feet under? Sure did.
But I didn't do it without a reason.

I had a damn good reason.
Being twelve and dating the leader of a gang didn't scare my stupid younger self.
What can I say—I was rebellious. And I liked it.

I made my way toward the second set of gates. The last barrier between me and freedom.
A guard stood there, arms crossed, face stone.

He unlocked my cuffs with a grunt, eyes narrowing.

"I know, I know. You won't see me again," I muttered, rolling my eyes and blowing a raspberry as I passed.

Outside, I spotted my mom's old white car. She hadn't gotten rid of it after all this time.

The moment I stepped out, she was already running toward me.
She pulled me into a tight hug—arms around me like I might vanish again.

Her scent hit me first. Vanilla and lilac.
It tugged at something inside me. A memory, maybe. A feeling.
But something about her felt... different.

We never had it easy, not growing up. It was always just me and her.
Until I was thrown into that hellhole.
Dear old dad? Only ever showed up to throw bottles and belt us with whatever he could grab.
He wound up dead in a ditch. No one missed him.

"My beautiful girl... you look so grown. So different," she said, her long blonde waves brushing my cheek as she pulled back. Her green eyes—same as mine—searched my face.

She didn't feel familiar.
But maybe that was the accident. The one that scrambled my memory and left holes I couldn't fill.

We looked alike, sure.
She was only 39, but I'd seen women in juvie who looked older than her by 20 years.

My hair was dyed black now. Only a few streaks of blonde still clung on. I'd done it in juvie.
A reminder to myself—I wasn't the same girl anymore.

She ushered me into the car, and we drove back to the place I once called home.

Pulling up to the worn-down New York apartment felt like pressing play on a memory I wasn't ready to relive.

The door still creaked. Still stuck at the bottom. Still broken in the corner.

I stepped inside.
Nothing had changed.

Same buzzing fridge.
Same scratched-up mahogany table she got from a discount store and swore was "vintage."
Same couch that dipped too far in the middle.

I ran up the stairs and into my old bedroom.

I stopped in the doorway, stunned.
The posters. The books. The clutter. All still there.
Shoes lined up like they were waiting for me.
My canopy bed, hanging just like I'd left it.
It was like time hadn't moved at all.

I headed to my bathroom and turned on the water.
The heat startled me—too much. I'd gotten used to cold showers.
So I twisted the knob and let the cold water wash over me.

Afterward, I pulled on a pair of grey sweats and a hoodie.
They still fit. My hair, now waist-length, went into a messy bun.

I came downstairs to find Mom in the kitchen, playing music and swaying her hips like no time had passed.

A smile tugged at my lips—reflexive. But it died before it could fully bloom.

She noticed me and turned the music up.
"Come on," she said, grinning.

We started dancing like we used to.
Singing along to 24K Magic by Bruno Mars, using wooden spoons as microphones.
Spinning each other. Laughing.

For a second, I felt normal.

Then it ended.

She served me a bowl of spaghetti, and we crashed on the couch.
Silence settled like a blanket.

"I missed you," she said quietly. "It was so lonely all these years."

I stared at my food. Picked at it.

Didn't matter what it was—nothing ever tasted right.
In juvie, I lived on apples and water. Not because they starved us, but because I never had the stomach to eat.

Too many fights. Too many nights wondering if I'd survive to see the morning.
Eventually, I started working out every day.
Earned a fit figure, abs.
Didn't earn peace, though.

I snapped out of it and set my untouched plate on the coffee table.

"I missed you too, Mom... Believe it or not, it wasn't all bad. Your weekly visits helped."

I tried to smile, but my face refused to move.

She looked at me, sadness in her eyes.
"I know you've always been strong... but I was afraid that place might've broken you."

I exhaled. Deep. Slow.

"Oh Mama, it did. It broke me. But I built myself back up again."
My voice trembled. "And I'd kill that bastard all over again if I had to."

Then, softer:
"But I regret leaving you alone. I'm sorry."

She reached out, fiddling with her fingers like she always did when nervous.

"I wasn't... completely alone."

I looked at her. Blank.

"I met someone. About a year ago. His name's Vince Armani... and he proposed last week."

I froze.

"You said no, right?" My voice came out ice cold.

Her eyes widened. "I— I love him, sweetie. He's changed my life. He makes me feel safe. I said yes."

She held up her hand. I hadn't noticed the diamond before.

It wasn't a knockoff. It was real.
Some guy in juvie taught me how to tell. He could've escaped juvie too. Always said, "When the time is right."

I swallowed hard. "When's the wedding?"

She hesitated.
"In two days."

I stared at her.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

"I'm happy for you. Really," I said flatly, standing up and heading upstairs before she could answer.

Back in my room, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
What did I expect? She's still young. It's not like Dad was ever decent.

I turned to the window.

Rain tapped softly against the glass.

"She deserves to be happy... for once in her life," I whispered.

And then I let sleep take me.

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