If I fall apart… I don’t know how to put myself back again. –Liana
Liana
I woke without an alarm.
The light coming through the blinds was too bright. My mouth was dry. My back ached from sleeping wrong, or not sleeping at all.
My hand reached for my phone before my brain caught up.
Still nothing.
No new messages. No missed calls. Just the same open screen, the last unread text.
Be good.
It was the third day.
Maybe he was just busy. Maybe the signal was bad. Maybe he didn’t want to say anything at all.
I locked the screen.
And unlocked it again.
Just to check.
I threw on a hoodie and walked to the park.
I told myself I just needed air. Something green. A different view. But the truth was I couldn’t stand the silence of the house.
It followed me anyway.
The path was quiet, a few joggers, some old ladies doing tai chi. And one young mom sitting under a tree, holding her toddler in her lap. She kissed his cheek. He giggled. She laughed.
Like they belonged to each other.
Like he knew, without question, that she would always be there.
I looked away.
And thought about my mother.
My father died of a stroke when I was ten. Overworked. Overstressed. He was kind but tired, always tired. I didn’t even really get to know him before he was gone.
My mother didn’t fall apart. She didn’t even blink.
She fought over the will. Took what she could. Left me with relatives. Called maybe twice a year. Just enough to prove I wasn’t technically abandoned.
And then when I was taken, when I was fifteen, she didn’t come.
Didn’t look.
Didn’t ask.
Maybe she didn’t even notice.
I guess she didn’t care.
Because if she had… someone would’ve come. Someone would’ve tried.
But no one did.
And if your own mother can leave you… if your own mother can forget you…
Then who the hell else would ever choose to stay?
If even she didn’t love me, then why would anyone else?
I walked home slowly, numb.
The quiet in the house felt heavier than before.
I dropped my bag, went upstairs, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened my phone again.
Be good.
Suddenly, the words felt like a slap.
He didn’t say I’ll be back. He didn’t say wait for me. He didn’t even say I love you.
Just be good.
Like I was a kid. Like he was patting me on the head before walking away.
What if that was the goodbye?
He said he’d be back.
But people lie.
Or change their minds.
Or realize they deserve better.
What if he met someone else? Someone clean. Normal. Someone without nightmares or scars or trauma she doesn’t even understand yet?
What if I was just someone he needed to fix?
Just a project. A detour. A way to feel useful.
I sat there a long time.
Long enough for the sun to shift, for the shadows to stretch across the floor.
My phone screen dimmed. Then went black.
I didn’t move.
Eventually, I whispered into the silence:
“Elias… don’t do this to me. Don’t leave me wondering.”
My throat tightened. My eyes burned.
I didn’t sob. Didn’t scream.
I just cried. Quiet and slow. Like something inside me had cracked instead of shattered.
I know how to survive being forgotten.
I just didn’t think I’d have to survive you.
