He didn't speak to Mia for the rest of the day.
After the bleachers, after that look in her eyes—the one that flickered between confusion and hurt—Eli just needed to be alone. He walked past people without seeing them. Avoided every familiar face. Not because he had an answer. But because he didn't.
His silence used to be a shield.
Now, it was starting to feel like a cage.
The walk home was slow. He took longer routes on purpose, counted cracks in the sidewalk, watched the sky darken with that dull evening blue that made everything feel heavier.
By the time he reached the house, he wished the sun hadn't set yet. He always felt safer in daylight.
He stood at the door and breathed in once. Twice.
Then he went inside.
The noise hit immediately. Video games, TV, laughter that never included him. His brothers were already sprawled across the couch, one with a controller, the other on his phone, shouting into a headset.
"Look who finally came out of his cave," one of them muttered.
Eli didn't respond. He started to walk past, like a shadow through their noise.
But his mother caught him in her periphery. "Did you just walk into my house without saying a word?"
He paused. Turned slightly. "Hi."
"Say it like you mean it, not like someone's forcing you to speak." Her tone was sharp. Familiar. Loaded.
He looked at her but didn't say anything.
"You always do this," she continued, pulling a pot off the stove with unnecessary force. "You come in here, head down, acting like the world owes you something. You don't help. You don't talk. You just exist."
He blinked slowly.
"I should never have birthed you," she said suddenly, flatly. "You're a ghost in this house. A drain. And I'm tired."
It wasn't the first time. But it was the first time she said it so… clearly. So directly.
Behind him, one of his brothers chuckled under his breath.
"Maybe he'll write that in his little diary. Make a whole chapter about it."
Laughter followed. Again.
Eli didn't say a word. Just turned and walked into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Not slammed. Just… closed.
He stood there for a long time, back against the door. Breathing like something was stuck in his chest and wouldn't leave.
Then he reached for the notebook.
The note was still there.
"You think no one sees you. But someone does. Keep writing."
But what was the point of being seen if all people ever did was look at you like a problem?
He opened a blank page and began to write.
"My mom said she shouldn't have birthed me. Maybe she's right. Maybe some people aren't meant to come all the way into the world. Maybe I was just meant to linger at the edge of it."
He didn't cry. He never did anymore. It was like even his tears knew they wouldn't be heard.
He closed the notebook, set it gently on the floor beside his bed, and lay down in the dark — listening to the muffled sound of the TV and laughter coming through the wall like proof that he didn't matter.
And still, the words echoed louder.
"You're a ghost in this house.""You just exist.""I should never have birthed you."
That night, Eli didn't sleep.
He faded.