The next day came dressed in sunlight, as if trying to erase the memory of the night before. But Olivia knew better. The house was quiet that Saturday morning—too quiet.
Her father had already left for the office, claiming he needed to "catch up on work." Her mother was still upstairs, sleeping off another late shift. The smell of coffee lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the warmth of fresh pancakes that Olivia had made for herself. She sat at the kitchen table, cutting slowly into her breakfast, her mind somewhere else entirely.
The argument echoed in her thoughts, each word replaying like a broken record.
"You're never here, Amelia!"
"At least I'm doing something meaningful!"
She closed her eyes, shaking her head as if she could scatter the noise away.
The sound of the doorbell startled her. When she opened the door, Emma stood there, her usual cheerful grin bright against the morning light.
"Hey, sunshine," Emma greeted, walking in. "Thought I'd check on you."
Olivia smiled faintly. "I'm okay."
Emma gave her a knowing look. "You sure?"
Olivia hesitated. Emma had been her friend since elementary school—the kind of friend who could read every mood with one glance. "They were fighting again," Olivia admitted quietly.
Emma sighed and sat beside her. "I figured. I could hear it when we were here yesterday."
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock. Emma placed her hand over Olivia's. "I'm sorry, Liv. But don't let it mess with your head, okay? Grown-ups fight. They'll figure it out."
Olivia looked down at their hands, her voice low. "That's what I used to think. But it keeps happening. Every time it feels worse."
Emma wanted to say something comforting, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she offered a small smile. "Hey, how about we go out for a walk? Maybe grab some ice cream?"
Olivia thought about it, then nodded. "Yeah… sure."
They spent the next hour walking down Maple Street, sharing jokes and stories. For a while, Olivia almost felt normal again. But even laughter couldn't cover the shadows creeping back into her thoughts.
When she returned home later, her father's car was parked in the driveway. She stepped inside and found him sitting in the living room, reading through some legal documents.
"Hey, Daddy," she said softly.
He looked up and smiled. "Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?"
"It was fine," she said, dropping her bag on the sofa. "Is Mom home?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. Another emergency, I suppose." His tone carried that same tired edge—the one that used to sound like frustration but now just sounded like defeat.
Olivia nodded and went upstairs. She stood at her bedroom door for a long moment, listening to the silence of the house before finally turning the knob and going in.
Later that evening, when Amelia returned, Olivia could hear her parents' voices again—this time lower, like two people who'd grown weary of fighting but didn't know how to stop.
"John," Amelia said tiredly, "I can't keep doing this every night."
"I'm not trying to argue," he replied, his voice breaking slightly. "I just miss my wife."
There was a pause. Then, quietly, Amelia said, "And I miss being one."
The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting.
Upstairs, Olivia curled beneath her blanket. She didn't cry, though her chest felt tight. Instead, she whispered into the dark, as if promising herself something:
"I'll never end up like this."
The moonlight slipped through the window and touched her face. She stared at it, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn't quite name.
Downstairs, her parents stood apart—two people under the same roof, both lost in the distance they'd built.
And somewhere in that house full of silence and memories, a young girl's belief in love quietly began to change.