She woke before dawn, despite barely sleeping.
It wasn't noise that pulled her from rest, but a familiar heaviness—something pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the suitcase near her feet. It stood open, expectant, as if it had been waiting for her to wake up.
Again.
She wasn't surprised anymore.
The house was silent. Unnaturally so for a morning when children should have been moving about.
She stood and began packing.
There was no rush in her movements, no hesitation either. Her hands worked as if they had done this before. Clothes. A few personal belongings. Each item dropped into the suitcase carried the same unspoken thought: Is this really it?
A faint sound came from the doorway.
Her hands paused, though she didn't turn right away.
"Charlene."
Lily's voice.
When she finally looked back, the child was standing by the door, fingers curled around the frame. She wasn't crying. She wasn't smiling. She simply stood there, unsure whether she was allowed to step inside.
"You're awake," Charlene said, keeping her voice steady.
Lily nodded. Her gaze shifted to the suitcase. She didn't ask what it was for. She already knew.
"You have school," Charlene said, forcing normalcy into her tone. "You'll be late."
"I'm not going," Lily said quietly.
Charlene looked at her. "Why not?"
"Because when we come home," Lily said, her voice small, "you might be gone."
Charlene sank back onto the bed. The weight returned, heavier than before.
"Your dad won't like that," she said softly.
Lily took one step closer, then stopped. "Are you leaving because you're mad at Papa?"
Charlene didn't answer right away.
Because it wasn't that simple. It was never just anger. Or exhaustion. Or hurt. It was everything tangled together, impossible to separate.
"I don't know," she said at last.
Lily moved closer and sat beside her. She didn't speak. She only reached out and held onto the edge of Charlene's dress.
"Please don't go," she whispered.
Charlene swallowed hard.
She didn't look at Lily immediately. She was afraid that if she did, she wouldn't be able to hold herself together.
"I have to," she said, more to convince herself than the child.
"But I don't want you to," Lily said suddenly. "Mom already left us. Please… please don't—"
Her words broke apart, replaced by quiet tears. She cried without sound, as if she didn't want to be a burden even now.
Charlene stood and pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly. Lily trembled in her arms, struggling to breathe evenly, trying not to sob.
"I'm not leaving you," Charlene whispered. "I'm not."
She didn't know if it was a promise—or a hope she was desperately clinging to.
She hadn't noticed Kerill until he was already there.
He stood at the doorway, silent, watching his youngest daughter cry in Charlene's arms. Guilt stirred, sharp and unwelcome, but he buried it where it wouldn't show.
His eyes drifted to the half-packed suitcase, then back to Lily.
Charlene looked up.
She gently pulled away, wiped Lily's tears, then faced Kerill—her expression firm, unguarded.
"I was going to leave," she said plainly. "Before things got worse."
Kerill didn't move.
"But?" he asked.
Charlene inhaled slowly. She could feel Lily behind her.
"But I'm choosing them," she said. "I won't do what you asked."
Surprise flickered across Kerill's face before he masked it.
"After everything they've done to you?" he asked. "Why now?"
She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that carried more pain than warmth. "Because that's exactly why."
He stepped closer.
"So you're going against me?" His voice was calm—but serious.
Charlene met his gaze without flinching. "Yes."
Silence stretched between them. No raised voices. No accusations.
"Then stay," Kerill said at last.
It wasn't an order. It wasn't a plea. It sounded final.
Charlene nodded—and smiled.
For a moment, Kerill forgot to breathe. It was the first time he had ever seen her smile like that—unguarded, genuine, devastatingly beautiful. He turned away before it could show and left the room without another word.