Snow White

013

Snow’s Point of View:

It’s been two days since I got the news about Mom dying, and I’ve locked myself away in my room ever since. No one has talked to me. I guess Dad told them to give me space, to leave me alone. That’s how they handle things in this house—silence.

I hear them, though. The boys talking just outside my door. Sometimes they argue, sometimes they whisper.

Zino always tries calling for me, his voice soft, like he’s afraid I might break if he speaks too loudly. I know they’re worried, but it feels like they’re tiptoeing around me, like I’m fragile. But I’m not. I just need... time. Time to understand, to feel something other than confusion and hurt.

But today, I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out. It’s around noon, and I’m starving. I’ve been waiting, hoping they’d leave, waiting for the house to fall silent again, so I could sneak out, grab something to eat, and disappear back into my room without anyone noticing.

But I can’t wait any longer.

I let out a deep breath, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My black crop top clings tightly to my body, and the blue jeans sit snugly against my hips.

I tug at the top, annoyed at how it shows more of me than I’m comfortable with, but I can’t bring myself to change. It doesn’t matter what I wear. I just need to leave this room.

Another breath. One more. Then, I open the door and step out.

The hallway is quiet, still. I glance around nervously, but no one’s here. Good. I walk slowly, my bare feet barely making a sound as I move toward the stairs. Every step feels heavier than the last. I’m bracing myself for what’s waiting downstairs. Conversations. Looks. Pity.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I pause. Voices drift up from the living room. The familiar hum of my brothers, always together, always close. I hesitate. My first instinct is to turn around and go back to the safety of my room. But I can’t keep hiding.

I take the first step down.

The voices grow louder. I recognize Dimitrios and Zino, laughing at something Karsten said.

They sound... normal. Like nothing’s changed. Like our mother didn’t die. Like I didn’t just find out the biggest lie of my life. My stomach tightens at the thought. They’re moving on, and I’m stuck.

I reach the bottom of the stairs, and the moment I step into the living room, the talking stops.

Silence.

I can feel their eyes on me, watching every move. I swallow hard, suddenly feeling self-conscious. My skin prickles under their stares, and I pull at the hem of my shirt again, wishing I’d worn something else.

“Snow,” Dimitrios says, his voice low and careful. “Are you okay?”

The concern in his eyes makes me want to shrink into the floor. I hate it. I hate how they’re treating me like I’m going to fall apart at any second. I force a small smile, even though it feels fake.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, heading straight for the kitchen. “Just hungry.”

Karsten stands up, his tall frame moving toward me with purpose. “I’ll get you something. Sit down.”

I nod, too tired to argue, and sit at the edge of the couch, feeling awkward. My body feels tense, like I don’t belong here, like I’m an intruder in my own home. Zino shifts nervously beside me, fidgeting with his phone. His gaze flickers to me, and for a second, I see the worry in his eyes.

“We were worried,” Zino finally says, breaking the silence. “You’ve been in your room for days...”

“I’m fine,” I say again, but the words sound hollow, even to me. I’m not fine. I haven’t been since I found out. But what’s the point in saying it out loud? It won’t change anything. It won’t bring her back.

Karsten returns with a plate, placing it on the coffee table in front of me. It’s a sandwich, something simple, but I barely glance at it.

Dimitrios clears his throat. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready, Snow. We understand.”

Do they, though? Do they really understand how it feels to lose someone you never knew you had? To find out your mother died because of you? I’m not so sure.

The room feels too small. The silence too loud.

I push the plate away and stand up, my legs feeling shaky. “I need some air,” I say, my voice strained. I don’t look at them as I head for the door, needing to get out, needing space.

No one stops me.

As I step outside, the cool breeze hits my face, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe. But the relief is fleeting. The weight of everything presses down on me again. I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t know what to do.

I need answers—about Mom, about why Dad lied, about everything. But more than that, I need to figure out who I am now, in this family that doesn’t feel like mine.