Tangled Hearts.

~Chapter 2~

~Raelyn~
 
~August 15th, 2021~

Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years—and still, Dad never came home.

By 2021, the last sliver of hope we'd been clinging to had worn down like limestone beaten by centuries of ocean spray. Every whisper of promise, every letter from the military, every forced smile from Mom—it all chipped away, until what remained was just... survival.

I was 22 now. Graduated high school in 2017, right after my dumpster-fire breakup with Ben—who, frankly, aged worse than the brutality in my city. Isa was 16, a junior in high school, somehow still managing to do homework between dodging airstrikes and watching the world collapse. She was basically Wonder Woman in Vans.

Every night, houses were blown apart or ransacked by scavengers for whatever glittery, overpriced things they could find—jewelry, designer bags, shoes I once dreamed of wearing to prom, now reduced to war loot.

Still, I found a weird kind of peace walking the abandoned streets of London with Athena, my massive, slobbery St. Bernard. We made an unlikely pair—me with a rusted crowbar in one hand, her with her tongue lolling out like we were on a hike through the Cotswolds instead of a dead city.

We explored the shells of what used to be homes—places once bursting with laughter and life now reduced to piles of ash and broken memories. Picture frames melted onto walls, baby shoes half-buried in rubble, kitchens frozen in time with burnt pans still on the stove. It was eerie... but also weirdly grounding.

Miraculously, our house had stayed intact. Sure, half the roof threatened to cave in every time it rained, and the wallpaper was peeling off like dead skin, but it was still ours. Still... home. Haunted and hallowed.

The streets were silent now, coated in a sticky layer of dust and dread. The kind of silence that makes your ears ring. The sun was beginning to set, casting shadows long enough to swallow us whole. Athena trotted beside me, her body brushing my leg like she knew I needed grounding. I kept alert, always watching, always listening—just in case something moved that shouldn't.

My thoughts drifted, like they always did, to the letter we got years ago. The one that said he might come home. The one that had us holding our breath for months. But hope doesn't survive long in a warzone. Eventually, it rots. Mom tried to keep it alive, tried to keep us laughing, but I saw it in her eyes—that quiet surrender. The truth she didn't want to say out loud.

Isa and I had no choice but to grow up. Fast. She kept her heart soft somehow, still believing Dad might return. Still leaving a plate for him at dinner sometimes. I admired her for that. Me? I was the realist. I had to be. I was the one who got us food, who made sure we weren't on the street when bombs dropped. Optimism was a luxury I couldn't afford.

Every night was a gamble. You didn't know if you'd wake up to your house or to rubble. The smart ones learned how to predict which neighborhoods would be hit. The lucky ones ran fast. The rest... we didn't talk about them.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky blood orange. I paused, looking at the fractured skyline, and I felt that familiar ache. This wasn't how life was supposed to be. We were supposed to be worried about prom dresses and finals. Not survival.

I sighed and nudged Athena with my boot. "Come on, we should head back before the raids start."

She barked and spun in giddy little circles like we weren't in a dystopian horror show. I rolled my eyes. "Yes, yes, I get it. You're thrilled. But we don't have time for your doggy dance party right now. Isa's waiting."

Athena gave a low grumble like a dramatic teenager, then finally started walking beside me again. Not two minutes later, she stopped and barked wildly at a faded hopscotch grid on the sidewalk.