Without You

13

The drive back to school is quieter than I expect, and I don't know if it's the weight of the past few hours or just the thick silence that fills the car between us. Azriel doesn't push me for more. 

But when we finally pull into the school parking lot, I don't have the strength to linger. I offer him a small, unspoken thank you with my eyes, and he nods, understanding, before he pulls away, leaving me to step out into the chilly afternoon air.

My car is parked near the back of the lot. I don't waste any time getting in, the engine sputtering to life as I pull out of the lot.

When I get home, the house is oddly still. It's not the kind of stillness you find when everything is quiet in peace; it's the heavy kind, the one that feels unnatural. I kick off my shoes by the door and step inside, the smell of dust and stale air clinging to the walls.

"Mom?" I call softly, but there's no answer. I glance down the hall and see her bedroom door cracked open, the soft sound of her breathing coming from inside.

I don't disturb her. 

Instead, I head for the kitchen.

But then, as I reach the top, something catches my eye the faintest movement by the living room window.

 I freeze.

There, standing by the window, is my father whom I haven't seen in weeks.

My heart skips.

 I blink, and then, just like that, my father is there.

He's standing by the window, staring out at nothing, his back to me.

 And then, when he turns, his eyes meet mine, and I can feel the weight of everything between us.

For a moment, neither of us moves. Time feels like it's stretching, a silent eternity, and then he clears his throat, his voice low, like he's trying to make himself smaller, trying to avoid the gravity of the moment.

"I'm just here to get some of my stuff," he says quietly, his voice rough with an edge I haven't heard in a long time.

I can't move. The words don't fit together in my mind, and my chest tightens, a hard lump forming in my throat.

"Dad..." The word feels foreign coming out of my mouth. "Why... Why are you here? You—you're back?"

His face hardens, and there's something in his eyes, something I've never seen before. "I'm not back," he says, his words sharp but hollow. He doesn't look at me fully; his gaze slides away, like he's afraid of what I might see if he does. "I just... I couldn't stay away forever. I need to get my things."

I take a step closer. "You could stay. You don't have to leave, Dad." The desperation in my voice surprises even me. "You don't have to leave us. We can—"

His eyes snap to mine, and for the first time, I see the vulnerability, the breaking in him. But there's no softness in his gaze, only pain—a raw, gutted kind of pain. "I can't stay here, Amore," he says, his voice cracking on the words. "I can't bear it. I can't bear being in this house... not with Ella gone."

The weight of his words hits me like a slap. My legs feel weak beneath me, and I'm not sure if it's from the shock of hearing him say her name, or the way he says it, like it's a wound he can't stop reopening. Like the house is too full of her absence. Like the ghost of her is too heavy to live with.

"Dad," I whisper, my voice breaking as I reach out for him, but the distance between us feels insurmountable. "Please, don't go. Please don't leave me too."

He shakes his head, his eyes full of something like regret, but it's too late. His shoulders sag under the weight of it all. "I don't know how to fix this," he says, his voice hollow, almost lost. "I can't even fix myself, Amore. Not after what happened. Not after..."

He falters, the words caught in his throat. He looks at me then, really looks at me, and for the first time in a long while, I see how deeply broken he is. The tears well up in my own eyes, but I force them down. I want to hold onto him, to scream at him to stay, to make him see that we could still be a family. But the truth is, he's already made his decision.

Ella's absence hangs over us like a dark cloud, suffocating every word, every attempt at connection.

"I can't be here," he repeats, his voice barely a whisper, like he's talking to himself more than to me. "I can't be in this house where she was. Not without her here."

And with that, he turns, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood, slow and deliberate. He doesn't look back as he walks toward the door, his hand resting briefly on the knob.

"Goodbye, Amore," he says softly, just before he steps out into the night, leaving me standing there in the silence.

I stand there for a long time, my heart breaking in ways I never knew possible. My father, my own flesh and blood, just walked out of my life again, and this time, I'm not sure if he's ever coming back.

But then, as if on instinct, I hear my mother's soft voice from the top of the stairs. Her voice is faint, like she's been awake for longer than she should have been.

"Amore? Is everything okay?"

I don't answer. I can't. I just turn and walk toward her, my steps slow, heavy with the weight of everything—Ella, my father, the empty house, the things I never got to say. My mother is waiting at the top of the stairs, her tired eyes looking at me with that quiet concern, but I have nothing left to give her. Not yet.

I walk to my room slamming the door behind me and drop down on my bed. 

"Breathe," I whisper to myself. "Just breathe."

I just need to breathe. To survive this night.