Breaking free - Gracie Abrams

004 Anyone Else

Anyone Else
004

April 8, 2024

her house didn't feel the same anymore. normally, when she walked in, her dad's voice would fill the space, saying something ridiculous that would make her mom and siblings laugh. today, it was silent, dark, and hollow, like a memory that had lost its warmth.

gabriella's footsteps echoed faintly as she stepped further inside. months ago, this place had been different. everyone had lived here, everyone had slept in their childhood rooms, and every inch of the house had felt alive, full of voices and life. now, each corner seemed haunted by emptiness, as if the walls themselves missed the noise.

"hey, cutie," she whispered to the little dark pug trotting down the hallway to greet her, its soft snuffle breaking the silence. "where's mom?"

the dog barked in response, almost as if sharing her sadness. gabriella let out a sigh, and with a deep breath, made her way upstairs, passing rooms full of memories but empty of life. every closed door was a reminder of what had been—a snapshot of laughter, arguments, and late-night conversations that now felt like relics of another time.

she checked her parents' room first, but it was empty. the bed was neatly made, as if waiting for someone who might never come back. the sight struck her, the stillness feeling almost wrong.

moving down the hallway, gabriella opened each door, peering in, feeling the ache grow deeper with each empty room. finally, she reached the guest room at the end of the hall. there, lay her mother, curled on the bed, her face turned toward the wall. the room felt cold, untouched, a space no one really belonged in—a makeshift refuge in their own home.

her mom looked so small, so fragile, wrapped in a blanket that seemed to swallow her whole. the lines on her face seemed deeper, carrying the weight of everything they'd lost. she walked in slowly, her footsteps barely making a sound. she hesitated, not wanting to disturb the fragile quiet, but the urge to reach out overpowered her.

"mom?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

her mom shifted slightly, opening her eyes, a flicker of recognition crossing her face.

"oh," her mom replied, "you remember you have a mom too?"

"sorr—" gabriella started.

"you didn't even call me once since you left." her mom's voice was low but laced with bitterness, a forced chuckle escaping her lips. "not one call, gabriella. not one."

she knew her mom had every right to be angry, and every part of her wanted to reach out, to explain—but words felt tangled in her throat. she took a careful step closer, swallowing hard, searching for the right words.

"i... i should have. i know." she kept her voice soft, steadying herself. "i've been... it's just been a lot. but that's not an excuse, i know that. i should have called you."

her mom turned away, eyes somewhere beyond the room, as if replaying each empty day she'd waited for that call. "a lot's happened here too," she murmured, voice cracking.

"i had work, mom. we were... we were busy," gabriella mumbled, barely meeting her mother's gaze.

"busy?" her mom's tone was hollow. "too busy to call your mom who just lost the love of her life?"

she wanted to say something, anything, to ease the hurt in her mom's eyes, but all that came out was silence.

"go on, then. say something, hotshot. all that confidence, all those roles you play, and nothing left to say to your own mother?"