Her Broken Wings

Chapter 1

(Edited- 05/2026)

Siren's POV

I read a quote once:

"Life asked Death, 'Why do people love me but hate you?' Death responded, 'Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth.'"

I think about that a lot now. It fits my life a little too well. Two months ago, I had a mother. I lived in New York City with friends, a life... even love. But all of that changed. Now, I'm lying in an uncomfortable bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling of this old, white, honest room. I haven't left it once in the past week.

I was sent here a week ago to live with my father for the absolute last stretch of my childhood. Yesterday, I turned eighteen. He was barely my legal guardian for seven days, but the paperwork stuck anyway.

I know I should get up, eat, and try to live again. I just... can't. Not right now.

Not when my mother is dead, and the father I was told was dead is very much alive. It feels like I traded a parent I barely knew at this point for one I don't know at all. My mom never talked about my dad, it wasn't a topic that was allowed. She'd shut down when I asked, so eventually I stopped and just accepted the truth she gave me.

But now, that truth feels like a lie. My mind can't keep up with how fast everything has changed. It's not just grief anymore. It's anger. Hurt. Betrayal. I trusted my mom more than anyone, and now she's gone before I even had the chance to ask why she lied.

That quote? Yeah. My life before was the beautiful lie.

Her death? The painful truth.

"Rain?"

The soft voice belonged to Del, the only grandmother I'd ever known. She was the only person who had seen or spoken to me since I arrived.

She was strong and kind, and somehow she made me feel safe, even when nothing else did.

Because as ridiculous as it might sound, I was terrified to meet my father. Terrified he'd hate me even more than I already hated myself.

The door opened with a slow, hesitant creak. Del stepped into the dim room, bringing a sudden burst of color that didn't belong in my gloomy sanctuary. She didn't look like any grandmother I'd ever seen; she moved with a sharp, grounded confidence, her posture defying whatever number was on her birth certificate.

Today, her usual heavy combat boots hit the floorboards with a muffled thud, and her toned arms were bare in a fitted tank top. She had even swapped her signature, edgy black clothes for a soft lavender; almost as if she'd dressed down her usual fierce style just to be gentle with me.

"So, I was wondering..." she started, her hopeful eyes meeting mine. "There's dinner at the club tonight, and I want you to come."

I bit my lip and glanced away, hating the thought of disappointing her. But the mere idea of leaving this room made me feel physically sick. Dragging myself upward, I leaned heavily against the wall.

"I don't know..." I murmured, my fingers fiddling with a fraying thread on my blanket.

"Rain, honey," she said, her combat boots silent as she crossed the space to sit on the edge of the mattress beside me.

"You can't stay in here forever. I know things are hard. You're grieving, and that takes time. I'm not asking you to stop being sad, or to pretend to be okay. I'm just asking you to give yourself a break. A breath of fresh air. Just a few hours outside this room. I think it might help."

I frowned, looking down at my hands, completely unsure.

"I'll take you shopping for clothes," she offered.