Chapter 1: The Weight of Home
The night was quiet, too quiet for Faye. The hum of the ceiling fan did little to drown out the tension that thickened the air between her and her mother. It was dinnertime, but the usual comfort of sharing a meal was lost in the uneasy silence that hung in the room. The kitchen was dim, the only light coming from the flickering bulb above the dining table. Her mother, Maria, was quiet as she sliced vegetables, her face tired but resigned.
Faye pushed her rice around with her spoon, not hungry, not interested in the meal before her. Her father had not come home yet, but she knew he would soon. She always knew. His late nights were becoming routine, and with them, the inevitable storm that followed. Faye's hands trembled slightly as she picked at her food, her gaze flickering to the clock.
Maria: Eat, my child. It's not as good if you don't eat.
Faye nodded, but the words were hollow. They both knew her mother was just trying to keep the peace, trying to make the night feel normal. But nothing was ever normal. Not anymore.
The door creaked open, and Faye didn't need to look up to know who it was. Her father, Gino, staggered into the kitchen, his footsteps uneven. The smell of alcohol hit her before his voice did.
Gino: (grumbling) Why does the house always look like this? It's always a mess!
He barely glanced at Faye or her mother. His gaze was bleary, his eyes bloodshot. Faye could see the familiar signs—drunk, angry, already on the verge of lashing out.
Maria: (softly) "Gino, please. Be quiet, or we'll misunderstand each other.
But Gino wasn't listening. His hand gripped the edge of the table, his body swaying slightly as he glared at Faye, who was still trying to keep her head down.
Gino: (angrily) You, Faye! All the problems in this family, they're because of you! Don't you think your life is a waste?
Faye's heart clenched. The words were like daggers, sharp and unforgiving. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but before she could speak, Gino swung his gaze to Maria, who was still sitting at the table, her eyes weary.
Gino: (spitting) This is why we're stuck here—you let her run wild. You never disciplined her!
Faye flinched, the sting of his words sharp against her skin. She could feel the heat rising in her face, the familiar ache that came whenever her father's rage turned on her. It wasn't the first time he had blamed her for everything that went wrong. But tonight, the anger in his voice was louder, sharper.
Maria: (tiredly) Enough, Gino. Stop.
But Gino's fury had already boiled over. He slammed his fist on the table, the plates jumping in their places. Faye couldn't bear it anymore. She pushed her chair back and stood up, her knees weak.
Faye: (quietly) "I can't do this tonight."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and fled from the kitchen, her heart hammering in her chest. She heard Gino's angry shout behind her, but it felt like a distant echo, fading as she retreated to the solitude of her room.
Once the door was closed, Faye collapsed onto her bed, curling up into a ball. She wanted to scream, to shout, to somehow make the hurt go away. But there was no one to hear her. No one to stop her from falling apart. So she lay there in silence, her body trembling with suppressed sobs.