Lucas didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. The kitchen felt like it was holding its breath as he asked, “Did Mom even matter to you?” His father looked up from his coffee, blinking once. The silence said more than any answer ever could.
Mark’s face hardened. “If you hate it here so much, then leave.” The words came out flat, like a door being shut without warning. Lucas didn’t flinch, but something inside him cracked. He turned before anyone could see it—walked past Dana’s smirk, down the hall, and out into the night.
The porch light buzzed behind him as Lucas stepped into the cold. He didn’t know where he was going—just that he couldn’t stay. His chest burned, not from anger but from the ache of being unseen. He kept walking until the houses blurred and the streetlights gave way to headstones.