When my parents were together, they always fought.
It was like thunder that never stopped — loud, cruel, and painfully familiar.
I watched it all from the In-Between, the place where time didn't move, but memories did.
Scenes formed in front of me like smoke — moments I once lived, moments I could never touch again.
Young Aria sat on the staircase, knees tucked to her chest. She was small, shaking, pretending not to exist.
I felt the fear she felt — not because I was her in that moment, but because that fear never really left me.
The memory unfolded.
"At least I'm remembered and honored," Father shouted, slamming his hand on the table. "No matter the event, I always come first. Can you say that for yourself?"
Mom's voice trembled, but she didn't back down.
"Why do you keep saying that? You act like being remembered is the only thing that matters! Like nothing exists except your fame!"
He laughed bitterly.
"Because nothing else matters. You're the last person who should talk about what matters. The only time anyone notices you is when you show up somewhere with me. You're just a housewife. No one will ever know you. And your daughter will end up just like you — weak, forgotten, living in someone else's shadow."
Mom flinched.
"Don't you DARE talk about our child like that! She's your daughter too!"
He shook his head slowly.
"I wanted a son. Someone to take over my company and carry my name, so people will always remember my legacy even when I am gone. But instead, I got her. That child will never be worthy of my name — she's invisible, just like her mother."
Young Aria pressed her hand over her mouth, trying not to cry.
Mom's voice cracked.
"Then why did you stay with us all these years?"
A long, terrible silence.
"Because I thought I'd eventually see worth in you both," he said.
"But there is none."
He turned to leave, but Mom grabbed his arm.
"Are you seriously abandoning us in your house?" she asked, face wet with tears.
"I have many apartments," he said coldly.
"So you and your worthless child can keep this one. You have nowhere else to go anyway."
Then he walked out.
Never looked back.
Never came home again.
In the In-Between, my chest tightened.
Not because of what he said — but because even after hearing every cruel word, Young Aria still wanted him to be proud of her.
Mom never knew she heard everything — every word that shattered her, every word that hollowed out the girl who should have been safe.
Young Aria lay in bed pretending to sleep…
but something inside her woke that night.
Something that would never rest again.
The scene shifted.
Mom working late.
Mom smiling tiredly.
Mom trying.
Always trying.
And Young Aria tried too.
At five, she was already forcing the world to notice her.
At eleven, she burned herself brighter and brighter, terrified of fading.
I watched her help with chores and when she had spare time, she would practice until her voice cracked, because she wanted to be first in everything, never second.
Always first.
Mom was proud… and that pride made the girl push even harder.
Then the memory softened.
A big apartment.
A speaker playing Evelora's songs.
Young Aria and Mom dancing off-beat, singing terribly, laughing like they had never cried.
I watched it like I was watching strangers.
Like the girl in the memory wasn't me at all.
The realization cracked something inside me — and the In-Between trembled with my sob.
I wiped my tears with both hands.
That's when I heard her.
A woman's voice, close but unclear.
"Keep watching, Ariana."
I spun around.
Her face was blurred — what else was I expecting?
"Who are you?" I whispered.
"That isn't important," she replied calmly.
"When the time is right, you will know. For now… do not look away from the memory."
"Why?"
But she was already gone — dissolving into smoke like every other mystery in this place.
Still, something about her felt familiar.
Haunting.
Waiting.
And just like she said…
I would know her when the time came.