WHISPERS OF LEGACY

Chapter 9: Into the Smoke

Gen sat on the wide windowsill of her room, one knee pulled to her chest, the other leg dangling toward the polished wood floor below. The house was quiet, as it often was—the kind of quiet that seemed to suffocate the space. She stared out into the backyard where her father's rose garden stretched in neat rows, blooming under the fading afternoon sun.

Her fingers toyed with the end of the cigarette in her hand, its ash smoldering dangerously close to the filter. She took a long drag, letting the smoke curl around her as it filled her lungs. She held it in for a moment, the familiar burn settling into her chest. Then, with a sigh, she exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the air in front of her.

Gen had been smoking for years now, though none of her friends knew. No one knew, really. It had started when she was sixteen—just a casual thing, an escape from the pressures of school, her father's expectations, and the grief that still lingered in their house like a permanent shadow. Her mother had died when she was young, and her father, ever the stoic businessman, had handled the loss with a silence that made it impossible for Gen to process her own grief.

But lately, the smoking had gotten worse. It wasn't just cigarettes anymore. The weed had started creeping in too, something she dabbled with now and then, though never around anyone who might notice. It was her secret, her own little escape from everything that felt too heavy to carry.

The day she found out about her father's illness, the smoking had become less of a habit and more of a lifeline. The doctor had said it was treatable—some kind of early-stage lymphoma that would require rounds of treatment but had a good prognosis. Gen knew she should feel relief at the news, but instead, all she felt was panic.

She'd stood in the sterile doctor's office, her father sitting quietly beside her, and she'd nodded at all the right moments, asked all the right questions. But inside, her thoughts had been racing, spiraling out of control. She'd watched as her father took the news in stride, his calm demeanor barely cracking. Of course he would handle it this way; he was always the strong one, the one who held everything together.

But Gen? She'd felt like she was coming apart at the seams.

The minute they got home from the appointment, she'd locked herself in her room and lit a cigarette, the first of many that day. Now, weeks later, she couldn't get through a day without one.

Her father didn't know. He was too wrapped up in his treatments, in keeping his business afloat, in maintaining the image of the untouchable Vanderbilt family. Gen was just his quiet, dutiful daughter, the one who helped him schedule appointments and ran errands when he was too tired to leave the house. He had no idea that after each hospital visit, she snuck out to the back porch to light up, letting the smoke drown out the anxiety that gnawed at her constantly.

She took another drag, closing her eyes as the nicotine worked its way into her system, calming her frayed nerves. The sharp pang of guilt was always there, lingering at the back of her mind, but she ignored it like she always did. Her friends wouldn't understand. Lisa would probably lecture her, tell her she didn't need this to cope. Gabe would shrug it off with that half-smile of his, but she knew he'd silently judge her. Theo? He'd likely try to fix it, as if this was just another problem that could be solved through sheer willpower.

And Sam... Sam wouldn't say anything. He'd just look at her with that quiet, understanding gaze of his, the one that always made her feel seen in ways she wasn't ready for. But none of them could know. This was hers—her problem, her secret.

Her phone buzzed on the bed behind her, but she ignored it. She already knew it was Lisa, probably texting to ask about plans for the weekend or to vent about something. Normally, Gen would respond right away, always the reliable friend, always the one to listen. But today, she couldn't bring herself to care.

Her mind drifted to the small bag of weed she kept hidden in the drawer of her bedside table. She only smoked it occasionally, on nights when the cigarettes weren't enough to take the edge off. It wasn't a habit—not yet. But lately, she'd felt that itch more and more, that need for something stronger. The last time she'd smoked, she'd been sitting right here in this spot, staring out at the same view, waiting for the numbness to settle in.

Maybe tonight, she thought, taking another slow drag from her cigarette. Just a little. Just enough to make it all disappear for a while.

She hated that she'd become this person—the girl who snuck around, who lied to her friends, who relied on vices to keep her head above water. But it was easier this way. Easier than admitting that she couldn't handle the weight of her father's illness, that she was terrified of losing him too, even though the doctors had assured them that the treatment would work.

She wasn't strong like her dad. She wasn't strong like Lisa or Theo or any of the others. She was just... fragile. And smoking made her feel like she had some control, even if it was a false sense of it.

The cigarette burned down to the filter, and Gen stubbed it out in the small ashtray she kept hidden on her windowsill. She reached for the pack on her nightstand, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out another one. But she hesitated before lighting it, staring at the unlit cigarette between her fingers.

This was getting out of hand. She knew it. But what was she supposed to do? She couldn't talk to her dad—he had enough on his plate. And her friends? They'd be disappointed in her, maybe even worried. The thought of Lisa's sharp, knowing eyes cutting through her was enough to keep Gen from ever mentioning it.

She flicked her lighter, watching the small flame dance for a moment before she closed it with a snap, setting the cigarette aside. Maybe she could wait a little longer before lighting another one. Maybe she didn't need it right this second.

The thought lingered for a moment, fragile as glass, before shattering completely. With a sigh, she lit the cigarette, the familiar burn filling her chest once again. She leaned her head back against the window, closing her eyes.

It wasn't that she wanted to be like this. It was just... easier.