>>Ariston (Past- Teenager)
The rain had been falling for hours—relentless, silver sheets hammering the roof and pooling outside the wooden house we had moved into about two years ago in muddy puddles. I'd started pacing after the third hour. After the sixth, I was just sitting by the fire, staring into it, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Dad was late. Again.
He'd been doing this more often—disappearing for days without a word. He'd taught me how to fend for myself years ago, how to trap and clean a rabbit, how to sleep light, how to listen for footsteps that didn't belong. But lately, his returns had been different. Slower. Heavier. Like each time he came back, he left more of himself out there.
I was already rehearsing the words I'd throw at him when he finally walked through that door—"You said you'd be back in two days,"
"I'm not a kid anymore, I deserve to know,"
"You don't just vanish on me like that."
But all of it turned to ash the moment the door creaked open.
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