The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting long stripes of gold across the bedroom floor. It was almost surreal—how the sun dared to shine when my world felt so dark.
Ariana and I were getting ready to head back to campus. She had finished all her exams, but insisted on accompanying me. I still had two left—both computer-based, thankfully. In a way, I was relieved. They would keep my mind occupied, even if only for a while.
"I packed you some snacks," Ariana said, zipping up her bag. "Just in case you forget to eat. Again."
I gave her a faint smile. "Thanks, Ariana ."
She rolled her eyes playfully, but I saw the worry behind her expression. Ariana had become my emotional crutch over the past few days, never leaving my side, never complaining. I didn't know how to thank her for it.
As I was stuffing my laptop into my backpack, the front door creaked open. I looked up and immediately froze.
Uncle Vincent.
He sauntered in uninvited, as though the house already belonged to him. Tall, balding, and always smelling faintly of whiskey, he had an aura that sent a shiver down my spine every time he entered a room. His presence turned warmth into cold, laughter into silence.
"Morning," he muttered, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Ariana.
Something in the way he looked at her made my stomach churn. His gaze lingered too long, too heavy, like oil sliding over glass. I knew that look. I remembered it vividly.
I was thirteen the first time I truly feared him. I had just come out of the backyard pool, water still clinging to my skin, when I caught him watching me—his eyes wide and unblinking like some grotesque owl. The way his lips curled into a slow, knowing smile... it was the first time I understood what it meant to feel unsafe in your own home.
From that day forward, I avoided him like the plague.
Even now, years later, that memory clung to me like a shadow.
I cleared my throat loudly. "Uncle Vincent. We're heading back to college."
He snapped out of his trance and turned his eyes toward me. "Ohhh, that's what the packing was for," he said, chuckling like he knew something I didn't. "Well, when you get back, we need to have a serious talk. About your parents."
His words froze me in place.
"About my parents?" I echoed, narrowing my eyes.
"Yes, yes. Some important things your dear father left behind. Things you ought to know." His tone was casual, but his smirk betrayed something else—something oily and sinister.
I didn't have time to unpack his cryptic remark. We were already running late, and my mind needed to be on exams, not unsettling conversations.
"That'll have to wait," I said quickly, grabbing Ariana by the arm and steering us toward the door. "We'll talk when I get back."
Vincent followed us out, standing too close behind me as I locked the door. I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck, and I flinched inwardly.
As I turned the key, I took one last look at the house that had once been my safe haven. Its walls had echoed with laughter, late-night dance parties in the kitchen, movie marathons on rainy evenings. Now, it felt hollow. A shell of the life I used to have.
I swallowed hard, willing the ache in my chest to stay buried.
"Stay strong," I whispered to myself. "For them."
It still felt strange—referring to my parents in the past tense.
Dead.
Gone.
Forever.
Even the words didn't sit right in my mouth.
I blinked away the sting in my eyes and turned to Vincent. "Goodbye, Uncle."
He gave me a lazy wave, his smile too wide, too plastic. "Safe travels, girls."
Ariana and I walked toward the street in silence, our bags slung over our shoulders, the train station just a few blocks away. The further we got from the house, the lighter I felt—like I could finally breathe again.
But back on the porch, a storm was brewing.
---
Inside the empty porch, Vincent lit a cigarette with trembling fingers and watched the two girls disappear down the street. He chuckled darkly to himself, exhaling smoke through clenched teeth.
"She really thinks she's something now, doesn't she?" he muttered. "Just like her damn father. Arrogant. Naïve."
He took another drag from his cigarette and let the ashes fall carelessly onto the floor.
"Oh, Zoey," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with malice, "you have no idea what kind of mess your perfect daddy left behind."
He pulled out a yellowed folder from his coat pocket, flipping it open to reveal pages of legal documents. He ran a finger slowly over Zoey's name, underlined in blue ink.
"Let's see where you end up, sweetheart," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Especially after you learn the truth about who your father really was… and what he promised."
His laughter echoed through the empty porch, cold and sharp like a blade sliding against glass.
---
To be continued.