The moment Lia stepped into the house, she knew it was coming.
The air was tense—too still, like everything had been waiting for her to return just to explode. Her mother was pacing the living room, phone clutched tightly in her hand. Her father stood near the window, arms crossed, jaw set hard.
"You're late," her mother said sharply.
Lia didn't take her shoes off.
"I told you I was looking for him."
Her father turned around slowly.
"We told you to stop," he said. "This has gone too far."
Lia's chest tightened.
"You don't get to decide that."
Her mother's voice rose.
"You disappeared for hours, Lia. Do you have any idea what we were thinking?"
"Yes," Lia snapped. "I know exactly what you were thinking. That I was being reckless. That he isn't worth it."
Her father slammed his hand against the table.
"That boy is not your responsibility!"
Lia flinched—but didn't step back.
"He's not just a boy," she shot back. "He's a human being who vanished, and none of you seem to care!"
Her mother scoffed.
"You barely even know him."
That was it.
Lia laughed—but there was no humor in it.
"I know enough," she said, voice shaking now. "I know he was alone. I know no one looked for him. I know the world was cruel to him—and still is."
Her mother's eyes narrowed.
"Why does this matter so much to you?"
The room went silent.
Lia swallowed.
Because this was the question she had been avoiding.
"Answer me," her father said quietly.
Lia's hands clenched at her sides.
"Because," she whispered, "I'm scared."
Her mother frowned. "Scared of what?"
"Of losing him," Lia said, tears finally spilling. "Of waking up one day and realizing no one tried hard enough. Of becoming the kind of person who looks away."
Her father stared at her.
Her mother's voice softened slightly.
"Lia… you're acting like—"
"Like I care?" Lia cut in. "Yes. I do."
Her breathing grew uneven.
"I don't know when it happened," she admitted. "I don't know how. But every time I think about him being out there—alone—it feels like something is tearing me apart."
Her mother took a step back.
Her father's expression changed.
"You like him," her father said slowly.
The words hung in the air.
Lia didn't deny it.
She nodded.
"I do," she said, broken but honest. "And I don't even know if he's alive or safe or thinking of us at all—but I can't stop caring."
Her mother covered her mouth, realization flooding her face.
"You never spoke like this before," she whispered.
"Because you never listened before," Lia replied softly.
Her father sat down heavily.
"I was afraid," he admitted after a long silence. "Afraid you'd get hurt. Afraid you'd lose yourself trying to save someone who doesn't want saving."
Lia shook her head.
"He never asked to be saved," she said. "He just needed someone to stay."
Another silence.
Longer.
Heavier.
Then her mother spoke, voice trembling.
"If you go," she said, "you might not find him."
Lia nodded.
"I know."
"And you might get hurt."
"I know."
Her father looked up at her.
"But you'll never forgive us," he said quietly, "if we stop you."
Lia's tears fell freely now.
Her mother exhaled shakily.
"Go," she said suddenly.
Lia froze.
"What?"
"Go," her mother repeated, voice breaking. "If you don't… you'll carry this regret forever. And we don't want to be the reason for that."
Her father nodded slowly.
"Just promise us one thing," he said.
Lia stepped closer.
"What?"
"Don't disappear," he said. "The way he did."
Lia nodded, sobbing now.
"I promise."
For the first time, her parents didn't try to hold her back.
They let her go.
And as Lia walked out of the house again, heart heavy but resolved—
She wasn't running anymore.
She was choosing.