She was only 8 years old.
8 years old and she saw her mother get killed by a drive by. From that day poor Nova has been traumatized and has been to foster home to foster home. At the age of 12, Nova has anger and trust issues, never letting anyo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
N O V A
The afternoon light filtered through my curtains in tired, golden stripes. My room smelled faintly of ink and dust, my floor scattered with papers, the music box hidden under the loose floorboard where no one could find it. I sat on the edge of my bed, one knee pulled up, Micte tucked against me like a tiny shield.
Every part of me buzzed with nerves. Evidence, clues, questions—they all swirled in my head. But the knock on the door made everything freeze.
I panicked. Quick as I could, I shoved the last of the papers into the hollow beneath the floorboard, smoothed the rug, and sat back just as the knob turned. Micte wriggled into my lap, licking my fingers, oblivious.
The door opened.
Kya stepped in.
I didn't stiffen this time. I didn't feel the usual spike of suspicion I did with most people. Kya was different. She was the one person who'd sat with me in silence when the noise in my head was too loud, the one who had once shown me how to braid my hair tight so no one could grab it in a fight. The one who never treated me like I was fragile—but never like I was broken, either.
"Hey, Butterfly," she said softly. The old nickname slipped from her lips like a habit, one that somehow didn't sting when she said it.
I glanced up, startled, then eased. "You're back."
"Business pulled me away," Kya said, leaning against the doorframe, her dark eyes warm. "But I wanted to see you first thing. How've you been holding up with your brothers?"
I stroked Micte's fur, buying myself a second. "Good."
Kya raised a brow. "Just good?"
I shifted, biting the inside of my cheek. "I mean... yeah. They're... good to me. They try. But sometimes..." I hesitated, the words crawling out slowly, like I had to drag them through mud. "Sometimes I feel like they're keeping things from me. Like they close doors the second I walk in, or they change the subject. And then I'm just standing there, pretending I didn't notice."
Her eyes softened, but she didn't interrupt. She just pulled the chair from my desk and sat across from me, folding her arms.
"That feeling," she said quietly, "doesn't usually come from nowhere. You're observant, Nova. You always have been. If you think something's being hidden, maybe you're right."
My chest tightened. "But why? I'm their sister. Why not just... tell me?"
"Because they're Sanchez," Kya said with a faint, wry smile. "Your brothers were raised in shadows, and it's hard for them to step into the light—even for you. Especially for you. Sometimes people keep secrets thinking it protects the ones they love."
I hugged Micte closer, staring down at her small face. "That doesn't feel like love."
Kya leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. "No, it feels like distance. But distance isn't the same as absence. They care, Nova. I've seen it. Doesn't mean they're handling it right, but don't mistake silence for indifference."
