The morning began like any other quiet and gray, with the smell of damp bread and coal smoke clinging to the air. The roof dripped from last night's rain, slow and steady, like it was counting time for me. I was always the first awake. I liked to hear the silence before the shouting started.
The floorboards were cold. I moved softly, careful not to wake Ren or his brothers. They hated it when I made noise. I poured water into the basin, dipped my hands in, and felt the sting of cold that went straight to the bone. I liked that feeling it reminded me I was still here, even if no one cared.
By the time Mira came out, the house was already alive with arguments. Ren had lost something again a coin pouch, small and old, one she kept hidden in the bread box. He was loud, waving his hands, eyes darting like rats looking for an escape. I knew that look. I'd seen it before, every time something went missing.
I didn't say anything. There was no point.
Mira's voice cut through the noise. "Where is it?"
No one answered. Ren looked down. The others looked at me.
That was all it took.
She walked up to me, her bare feet whispering against the floor, and I could smell the smoke on her breath. "You were near the box last night," she said.
"I was cleaning the crumbs," I whispered.
"Crumbs don't need cleaning at midnight."
I didn't answer. I didn't know how to. My chest felt tight, like I'd swallowed a stone.
Ren moved closer, pretending to search my corner. "Wait" he said suddenly, crouching by my sleeping mat. "What's this?"
He pulled out the pouch her pouch covered in ash and dust, the leather damp. I froze. I'd never even touched it. My mind went blank, like the air had been punched out of me.
Mira stared for a long time. The lines on her face seemed deeper, her eyes darker. "You stole from me," she said, quiet, too quiet.
"I didn't," I managed. My voice cracked like old wood. "I didn't touch it."
She raised her hand. I thought she was going to speak, but instead her palm met my cheek. The sound was louder than I thought it would be. My ears rang. The others went still.
"After everything," she said. "After feeding you. Clothing you."
Her words fell heavy. I wanted to speak, but the air in the room was thick with something worse than anger or disappointment. The kind that kills slower than fire.
Ren held his arm up suddenly. "He tried to hit me when I found it," he said, his eyes wet. "Looknhe grabbed me!"
There was a faint bruise on his wrist. It wasn't from me, but that didn't matter. Truth didn't live in this house anymore.
Mira's expression broke. Not into pity into something colder. "Out," she said.
I blinked. "What?"
"Get out," she repeated. "Before I call the guards."
Her words didn't sound like her. They sounded like stone grinding against stone.
I looked at the others, hoping someone would say something. No one did. One of them picked up my small bundle a cracked bowl, a piece of cloth, an old wooden carving I made and threw it into the mud outside.
The door opened. The rain waited for me like an old friend.
"Mira," I said. My voice was small, but it was all I had. "Please. I didn't"
She didn't answer. Her face was unreadable, the kind of blank you wear when you don't want to feel anything. I used to think she looked tired. Now I saw it was something worse she just didn't care.
"You were a mistake," she said. "A mouth that should've stayed quiet."
Then she shut the door.
The sound was final. A dull thud that made the air inside my chest collapse.
I stood there for a long time. The rain came harder, tracing cold lines down my face. My cheek still burned where she'd hit me, but the rest of me felt numb. People passed by, heads down, too busy surviving to notice another child in the mud.
I picked up my bundle. The cloth was soaked, and the bowl had cracked in two. I didn't cry. I didn't even breathe for a while. I just stood there, waiting for something maybe for her to open the door again, maybe for the world to notice me.
It didn't.
I turned away from the house and walked toward the alleys. My feet sank into the wet earth, each step heavier than the last. The market smells salt, smoke, rot mixed with the rain, and I thought how the world didn't care what it swallowed.
When I reached the edge of the slum, I looked back once. The house was small, crooked, leaning against its own shadow. The window light flickered, warm and distant, like a place I'd dreamed of but never lived in.
For a second, I thought I saw Mira's silhouette behind the curtain. But maybe it was just the firelight moving.
I whispered her name, not because I thought she'd hear me, but because I wanted to remember how it felt to say it. It slipped out like breath in winter visible for a moment, then gone.
The rain didn't stop. It just kept falling, patient and endless, washing the last bit of warmth from my skin. Somewhere, a bell tolled. Morning again. For everyone else, at least.
For me, it was something else. The day the world decided I didn't belong to anyone.
The day I learned that even love can forget your name.