The house was quiet again.
Not the calm kind.The kind that felt like everything inside it was holding its breath.
Mira stood in the kitchen long after the kettle had finished boiling. The steam rose, curled, disappeared. She didn't move. Her fingers stayed wrapped around the counter so tightly they hurt.
This can't last, she thought.The thought came clean. Sharp. Final.
People didn't change like this. Not overnight. Not without a reason. And every time she tried to imagine trusting it—really trusting it—something inside her recoiled like she'd touched fire.
She looked at the clock.
Too early.Too quiet.
Her chest tightened.
When does it break?When does he break?When do I?
From the hallway, Isha's small footsteps padded toward her. Mira turned instantly, instinct kicking in faster than thought.
"Come here," she said, kneeling.
Isha walked into her arms without hesitation.
That hurt the most.
The child's trust wasn't healed—it was habit. Built on routine. On clinging to the only safe place left.
Mira pressed her face into her daughter's hair and inhaled.
I can't fail you.
But the word can't felt thin.
Rayan watched them from the doorway.
He hadn't meant to.
He froze the moment he saw Mira's shoulders shake—not with sobs, but with something quieter. Something exhausted beyond tears.
Guilt slammed into him so hard his vision blurred.
This is my fault.
The thought came without memory. Without proof. Just certainty.
He stepped back before she could notice him.
His head throbbed.
The shadow stirred, closer now, heavier.
See? it whispered.You're still doing this to her.
Rayan clenched his jaw until it ached.
"I'm trying," he muttered. "I'm trying."
The shadow laughed softly.
That afternoon, Mira took Isha outside.
Not far. Just the street. Just air.
The sun felt too bright. Too normal. Neighbors passed, unaware, smiling like lives didn't fracture behind closed doors.
Isha held Mira's hand tightly.
"Mama," she asked suddenly, voice small. "Papa… bad again?"
Mira stopped walking.
The world tilted.
She crouched immediately, heart pounding, hands gripping her daughter's shoulders gently but firmly.
"No," she said too fast. Then slower. "No, baby. Papa is… different right now."
Isha frowned, trying to understand something far too big for her.
"Different… stay?" she asked.
Mira's throat closed.
She couldn't answer.
She pulled Isha into her chest instead, holding her like the world might take her away if she loosened her grip even a little.
I don't know, she admitted silently.I don't know if I can let him stay.
That night, the cold came back.
Not the craving this time.
Something sharper.
Rayan stood alone in the kitchen, staring at his reflection in the darkened window. The face looking back at him felt wrong—like a mask stretched over something rotten.
His head pulsed.
Fragments pushed harder now.
A scream cut short.A plate exploding against a wall.A small body flinching before the sound arrived.
He staggered back, breath ragged.
"No," he hissed. "Stop."
The shadow didn't whisper this time.
It spoke clearly.
You remember.
Rayan's hands shook violently.
"I don't," he said. "I don't know why—"
You do, it interrupted. You just don't want to.
The pressure spiked.
Across the house, Mira sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. Her chest felt hollow, scraped raw from the inside.
She had thought about leaving so many times before.Packed bags in her head.Routes memorized.Excuses rehearsed.
Fear had always stopped her.
Tonight, it wasn't fear.
It was something colder.
What if staying breaks me more than leaving ever could?
The thought settled heavy and still.
She looked at Isha sleeping beside her.
And the decision cracked—not cleanly, not fully—but enough to bleed.
Rayan took a step toward the bedroom.
Then another.
His body moved like it already knew where it was going.
The shadow pressed close, eager.
Go on, it urged. See what you did.
Mira heard the floorboard creak.
Her spine went rigid.
She stood slowly, every muscle tense, positioning herself between the door and the bed without even realizing she'd done it.
The handle turned.
Rayan froze on the other side.
So did Mira.
Two people separated by wood, silence, and years of damage neither could undo.
Rayan's head rang.
Mira's heart pounded.
Neither spoke.
Then—
Isha stirred in her sleep and murmured softly, "Mama…"
Mira's resolve snapped into place.
Her hand closed around the door lock.
Click.
Rayan heard it.
The sound was small.
Final.
The shadow smiled.
And for the first time, Rayan realized—
Whatever he was becoming…it might not be enough.
[End of Episode 5]