Sage Rose Parker, a seventeen almost eighteen year old girl getting ready for college with her two friends.
Having the world on her shoulders and her past in her mind she's down to break.
An alcoholic as a mother and an abusive father in jail didn'...
(Trigger warnings: domestic violence implied, murder, drug possession and arrest, emotional distress, alcohol abuse, emotional neglect, parental verbal aggression, mentions of guilt and self-blame) (Also Mira is Ezra's mother)
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House Across the Street ================================= There's a quiet in the chaos, a hush between the screams, where childhood ends unnoticed, torn apart at the seams.
The lights still flicker warmly in the house across the way, while silence fills the doorway where joy forgot to stay.
He was just a boy with questions, she was just a girl with grace, but the world gave them a lesson no child should have to face.
And still, the party echoes like laughter carved in glass, while shadows steal the future and bury pieces of the past ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 10 years ago....
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Randy Parker stood in the hallway, just outside her bedroom door, his hand resting on the brass knob. He could hear the faint hum of the TV downstairs, a child's laughter drifting upward—Ezra's, probably. And Sage.
His jaw ticked.
He didn't knock.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside like he belonged there.
Mira was at the vanity, brushing her hair with slow, careful strokes. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the curtains, turning the soft brown strands to gold, but there was no softness in the air. Not with him here. Not with the weight of the years pressing in around them like ghosts.
She met his eyes through the mirror.
"Don't start," she said quietly. "Not now. The kids are downstairs."
Randy closed the door behind him with a soft click. He didn't speak. Just stood there for a moment, letting his eyes rake over the room—the pale walls, the familiar scent of vanilla and rose, the way her back tensed when she realized he wasn't going to leave.
"I told you not to come here anymore," she added, turning fully to face him. "Not alone. Not like this."
He smiled. It was a slow, bitter thing. "You always did love pretending you had control."
Mira's expression didn't change, but her hand lowered from her hairbrush, fingers curling tightly around its handle. "I don't want to do this with you. Not here. Not in my house. Not with our kids—"
"They're not our kids," Randy snapped, voice sharp and sudden. "You made damn sure of that, didn't you? Gave his last name to your son. Raised that boy with him like none of it ever happened."
Mira's breath caught for half a second, but she didn't look away.
"You're still stuck in high school," she said, her voice flat. "You're married, Randy. You have your own life. A wife. A son. A daughter."
