(Kaia Verene's POV)
I don't believe in love.
Not the kind people talk about.
Not the kind that stays.
Not the kind that chooses you and keeps choosing you.
Because I've seen what happens when it doesn't.
I was fourteen when I learned that.
Fourteen when everything that felt permanent—wasn't.
It didn't happen all at once.
That would've been easier.
Cleaner.
It happened slowly.
Quietly.
Like something rotting from the inside.
At first, it was just… distance.
My dad coming home later than usual.
More "work."
More "meetings."
More excuses that sounded normal enough not to question.
My mom never said anything.
Not in front of me.
She still smiled.
Still cooked dinner.
Still asked me about school like everything was fine.
And I believed her.
Because I wanted to.
Because I didn't know any better.
Until I did.
I wasn't supposed to find out like that.
No one ever is.
It was a message.
A notification that popped up on his phone when he left it on the table.
I wasn't snooping.
I wasn't looking for anything.
It just—
appeared.
A name I didn't recognize.
A message that didn't make sense.
"I miss you already."
I remember staring at it.
Too long.
Long enough for something in my chest to feel… wrong.
I didn't understand it fully.
But I understood enough.
When he came back, I asked him.
I shouldn't have.
I know that now.
But I did.
"Who is she?"
I remember the way he froze.
Just for a second.
Just enough.
He smiled after that.
Too quick.
Too easy.
"No one," he said.
And I—
I wanted to believe him.
So I did.
For a while.
But things like that don't stay hidden.
Not really.
Not when they're already breaking everything underneath.
The arguments started weeks later.
At night.
Behind closed doors.
Voices that were supposed to stay quiet—
didn't.
I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening.
My mom's voice.
Shaking.
Trying to stay calm.
Trying to understand.
"Tell me the truth."
And my dad—
defensive.
Cold.
"It's not what you think."
It always is.
I learned that too.
I covered my ears sometimes.
Pressed my pillow over my head.
But it didn't block it out.
Nothing did.
Because it wasn't just the noise.
It was the feeling.
Like something was falling apart and I couldn't stop it.
And then one night—
it got worse.
I remember standing in the hallway.
Barefoot.
Heart racing.
The door wasn't fully closed.
And I saw her.
My mom.
Crying.
Not quiet tears.
Not the kind she hides.
But the kind that breaks.
The kind that makes your whole body shake.
I'd never seen her like that before.
Never.
And my dad—
just stood there.
Saying nothing.
Looking—
guilty.
That's when I understood.
Fully.
Completely.
He didn't deny it anymore.
Didn't explain.
Didn't fix it.
He just—
stood there.
And that was worse than anything he could've said.
Because it meant it was real.
It meant it was true.
It meant he chose something—
someone—
else.
Over us.
Over her.
Over everything.
I don't remember walking in.
But I did.
I remember the way they both looked at me.
My mom immediately wiping her tears.
My dad stepping forward like he could still—
what?
Fix it?
Explain?
It was too late.
"You lied," I said.
My voice didn't sound like mine.
It sounded smaller.
Younger.
Broken.
"Kaia—"
"Don't."
I've never said that word like that before.
Or since.
He stopped.
Good.
Because if he took another step, I think I would've—
I don't know.
I just remember looking at him.
And feeling something I'd never felt before.
Not sadness.
Not confusion.
Something sharper.
Something heavier.
Anger.
"You made her cry," I said.
He didn't answer.
Of course he didn't.
"There's someone else," I added.
Not a question.
A fact.
Silence.
That was my answer.
I nodded slowly.
Like I understood.
Like I accepted it.
But I didn't.
I never did.
"Get out."
My mom's voice.
Soft.
But firm.
I looked at her.
She wasn't crying anymore.
Not like before.
Her eyes were still wet, but—
there was something else there.
Strength.
Painful.
But steady.
"Get out," she repeated.
He hesitated.
For a second.
Then—
he left.
Just like that.
No big speech.
No apology that mattered.
No fixing anything.
He just—
walked away.
And that was it.
That's how everything ended.
Not with a fight.
Not with closure.
Just—
silence.
After that, everything changed.
The house felt different.
Quieter.
But heavier.
My mom tried to make things normal.
She really did.
She smiled more.
Cooked my favorite meals.
Checked on me constantly.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
I always said that.
Because she already had enough to deal with.
Because I didn't want her to worry more.
Because I didn't know how to explain that I wasn't.
I watched her.
Every day.
Trying.
Working harder.
Staying up late.
Waking up early.
Doing everything she could to make sure my life stayed the same—
even when hers fell apart.
She never let me feel the absence.
Not fully.
She filled every space he left behind.
And more.
She loved me enough for two people.
Maybe even more.
And that's why it hurt.
Because she didn't deserve that.
She didn't deserve to be lied to.
To be replaced.
To be left.
She deserved—
better.
And he—
he didn't deserve her.
Or me.
I stopped asking about him after that.
Stopped expecting anything.
Stopped—
caring.
At least, that's what I told myself.
Because it was easier that way.
Easier to be angry than to be hurt.
Easier to shut things down before they could break.
I learned something that year.
Something I never forgot.
Love doesn't stay.
It leaves.
It changes.
It chooses someone else.
And when it does—
it doesn't just hurt.
It destroys.
So I made a decision.
Fourteen years old.
Standing in a house that didn't feel like home anymore.
Watching my mom try to hold everything together with hands that were already shaking.
I decided—
I wouldn't be like her.
I wouldn't love someone enough to let them break me.
I wouldn't trust someone enough to give them that power.
I wouldn't need anyone the way she needed him.
Because if I did—
I'd lose.
Just like she did.
So I promised myself—
no love.
No attachments.
No expectations.
Nothing that could leave.
Nothing that could hurt.
Simple.
Safe.
Controlled.
And I've kept that promise.
Until now.
…
I stare at the ceiling.
The memory fading slowly, but not enough.
Never enough.
My chest feels tight.
Heavy.
Familiar.
I close my eyes.
And for a second—
I see her again.
My mom.
Crying.
Breaking.
And him—
walking away.
I clench my jaw.
No.
Not happening again.
Not to me.
Not ever.
Because love?
Love is weakness.
Love is loss.
Love is—
"Kaia."
I open my eyes.
Silence.
Empty room.
Just me.
And the echo of something I don't want to hear.
Something I don't want to feel.
Something I don't want to admit.
Because for the first time in a long time—
something is trying to get past the walls I built.
And I don't know how to stop it.
Or worse—
if I even want to.