/ POV Xejo /
The morning light slipped quietly through the thin curtains, pale and indifferent.
Xejo stood in the kitchen, her hands moving out of habit—cutting, stirring, arranging—
while her mind drifted somewhere far deeper.
[When I married Colen…]
The thought came back again.
It always did.
[He accepted me.]
No hesitation.
No conditions.
Her fingers paused for a second.
[I loved him for that.]
A small breath escaped her lips.
[But love… doesn't mean everything else comes with it.]
The knife resumed its motion.
Clean.
Precise.
[His son…]
A faint crease formed between her brows.
[I tried.]
That was what she always told herself.
[I didn't hate him.]
And that was true.
[He was just… there.]
Always quiet.
Always distant.
Like something left behind in a room no one used anymore.
[A lonely child.]
Her grip tightened slightly.
[But not mine.]
The thought settled without resistance.
No guilt.
No doubt.
[I gave my daughter a father.]
That was the reason.
The only reason that mattered.
[Everything I did… was for her.]
The pan sizzled softly.
Oil cracked under heat.
[So I made a choice.]
Not cruel.
Just… clear.
[I would take care of him.]
[But I would never love him.]
A quiet boundary.
Drawn once—
Never crossed.
[And he became exactly what I expected.]
Lazy.
Withdrawn.
Disconnected.
Her expression hardened just slightly.
[A child without direction… becomes a problem.]
Not anger.
Just conclusion.
[So I focused on the one who mattered.]
Lata.
Warm.
Bright.
Everything she had protected.
Everything she had built her life around.
And now—
That same warmth felt… wrong.
"Mom…"
The voice pulled her back.
Xejo turned.
Lata stood there, her eyes shining with something soft.
Too soft.
"…Can I see my brother?"
A pause.
"I miss him."
The words were simple.
Innocent.
But something inside Xejo tightened instantly.
[Again…]
"…After school," she answered.
Carefully.
Measured.
"Maybe."
Lata's face lit up—
too quickly.
too brightly.
"He must be lonely…"
Her voice softened.
"But no one takes care of him."
Xejo felt it then.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Something colder.
[Why…]
Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
[Why do you sound like that?]
"I'm busy with work," Xejo said.
Flat.
Controlled.
"And you're still young."
A pause.
"I don't want you getting involved."
Lata lowered her gaze slightly.
But she didn't step back.
"…It must be hard for him."
Still defending him.
Still… thinking about him.
"That girl…"
Xejo's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Is she still taking care of him?"
A beat.
"I want to thank her."
Another pause.
"…But she's also the reason he became like that."
Silence.
"What should I do when I meet her, Mom?"
Xejo smiled.
A perfect smile.
"Just thank her."
Her voice was gentle.
Too gentle.
"It's not her fault."
A pause.
"Your brother…"
She stopped for a fraction of a second.
"…is a hero."
The word felt wrong in her mouth.
But she let it stay.
"You should be happy."
Lata nodded slightly.
"I can't wait to see him again."
A small breath.
"I miss him every day."
And there it was.
Xejo felt it clearly now.
Not confusion.
Not doubt.
Recognition.
[This is wrong.]
Her chest tightened—
not with emotion—
but with certainty.
[A sister shouldn't look at her brother like that.]
The thought didn't argue.
Didn't hesitate.
It concluded.
[Something is already broken.]
Her gaze lingered on Lata a moment longer.
[If I let this continue…]
She didn't finish the thought.
She didn't need to.
Her hand rested lightly against the edge of the table.
Still.
Controlled.
[I won't let her fall into that.]
A quiet decision formed—
not loud,
not dramatic—
But absolute.
And somewhere beneath it—
something colder followed.
[Even if I have to become the bad one.]