The road to her parents’ home had not changed in years. It wound through fields of dry grass and sleeping trees, the kind that looked like they had been waiting too long for spring. Lilian drove with both hands on the steering wheel, her eyes heavy from sleepless nights. The radio was off. She had learned that silence was better than music—it gave her space to think, though lately even her thoughts felt dangerous.
When she turned onto the familiar gravel road, a strange mix of relief and shame spread through her. She’d made this same drive before, every time Ken disappeared or when the weight of their house became too heavy to breathe in. Her parents never asked too many questions. They just opened the door, offered a bed, and let her stay until she said she was ready to go back.
Her mother was standing on the porch before she even parked. “Lilian,” she said softly, as if saying her name too loudly might make her crumble. The hug was quick but warm. Inside, the air smelled like cinnamon and old wood. The house was smaller than she remembered, or maybe she had just grown up enough to notice how tightly the walls held her.
“Did something happen again?” her mother asked as they sat at the kitchen table. The same table where Lilian had done homework years ago, the same one where her father had told her she was ready for college, and where she had cried after her first fight with Ken.
Lilian stared at the steam rising from her cup of tea. “He’s gone.” Her mother’s eyes darkened but she didn’t look surprised. “For good?” Lilian shook her head. “No. Just… gone. Like before.”
Her mother’s sigh was quiet but heavy. “You can’t keep doing this, Lilian.” “I know.” “No, you don’t.” Her mother’s voice broke, sharp and tired at once. “You come here every few months, saying it’s different, saying this time it’s worse. And then he comes back, and you go back with him. Do you even know why?”
Lilian looked down at her hands. “Because I love him,” she whispered. “Love?” Her mother almost laughed. “Love doesn’t make you afraid of footsteps in your own hallway.” The words struck her like a slap. She blinked away the sting in her eyes. “You don’t understand.” Her mother leaned closer, her tone softening. “Then help me understand. What are you waiting for, Lilian? For him to change? For a miracle?”
Lilian wanted to say something, but the words tangled in her throat. What was she waiting for? She didn’t know anymore. Maybe for an explanation. Maybe for one day when Ken would tell her why he kept leaving. Maybe for a moment when she could believe he loved her enough to stay.
That night, Lilian lay in her old bedroom staring at the ceiling. The wallpaper was the same pale color it had always been, but the room felt strange—like a museum display of her younger self. Her childhood photos smiled from the dresser, mocking her with the innocence of someone who once believed love was safe.
She couldn’t sleep. Every creak in the house sounded like a footstep. At 2 a.m., she sat up and checked her phone. No messages. She stared at the blank screen until it went dark.
When she finally dozed off, she dreamt she was back in her house with Ken. The lights flickered. She called his name. No answer. Then the wedding photo on the wall began to move, shaking slowly as though something behind it was trying to break free. She reached out, and just as her fingers touched the frame, she woke up—heart pounding, breath short.
The next morning, she told her mother she would stay for a few days. Her mother nodded but said nothing. The silence between them was kind, almost protective.
When she turned onto the familiar gravel road, a strange mix of relief and shame spread through her. She’d made this same drive before, every time Ken disappeared or when the weight of their house became too heavy to breathe in. Her parents never asked too many questions. They just opened the door, offered a bed, and let her stay until she said she was ready to go back.
Her mother was standing on the porch before she even parked. “Lilian,” she said softly, as if saying her name too loudly might make her crumble. The hug was quick but warm. Inside, the air smelled like cinnamon and old wood. The house was smaller than she remembered, or maybe she had just grown up enough to notice how tightly the walls held her.
“Did something happen again?” her mother asked as they sat at the kitchen table. The same table where Lilian had done homework years ago, the same one where her father had told her she was ready for college, and where she had cried after her first fight with Ken.
Lilian stared at the steam rising from her cup of tea. “He’s gone.” Her mother’s eyes darkened but she didn’t look surprised. “For good?” Lilian shook her head. “No. Just… gone. Like before.”
Her mother’s sigh was quiet but heavy. “You can’t keep doing this, Lilian.” “I know.” “No, you don’t.” Her mother’s voice broke, sharp and tired at once. “You come here every few months, saying it’s different, saying this time it’s worse. And then he comes back, and you go back with him. Do you even know why?”
Lilian looked down at her hands. “Because I love him,” she whispered. “Love?” Her mother almost laughed. “Love doesn’t make you afraid of footsteps in your own hallway.” The words struck her like a slap. She blinked away the sting in her eyes. “You don’t understand.” Her mother leaned closer, her tone softening. “Then help me understand. What are you waiting for, Lilian? For him to change? For a miracle?”
Lilian wanted to say something, but the words tangled in her throat. What was she waiting for? She didn’t know anymore. Maybe for an explanation. Maybe for one day when Ken would tell her why he kept leaving. Maybe for a moment when she could believe he loved her enough to stay.
That night, Lilian lay in her old bedroom staring at the ceiling. The wallpaper was the same pale color it had always been, but the room felt strange—like a museum display of her younger self. Her childhood photos smiled from the dresser, mocking her with the innocence of someone who once believed love was safe.
She couldn’t sleep. Every creak in the house sounded like a footstep. At 2 a.m., she sat up and checked her phone. No messages. She stared at the blank screen until it went dark.
When she finally dozed off, she dreamt she was back in her house with Ken. The lights flickered. She called his name. No answer. Then the wedding photo on the wall began to move, shaking slowly as though something behind it was trying to break free. She reached out, and just as her fingers touched the frame, she woke up—heart pounding, breath short.
The next morning, she told her mother she would stay for a few days. Her mother nodded but said nothing. The silence between them was kind, almost protective.
