Seraphina's Point Of View
I stood at the front door longer than necessary.
Just… stood there.
Keys still in my hand. Back pressed to the wood. The silence of the hallway ringing louder than traffic ever could. My chest rose and fell too fast, breath shallow, panicky, like my lungs were auditioning for a breakdown.
Okay.
Okay.
You're home.
You're fine.
You're alive.
I closed my eyes and started breathing the way the therapist on YouTube once said to—four counts in, hold, four counts out. Except my brain refused to cooperate and turned it into panic breathing with extra spice.
In. Out. In. Out.
I groaned quietly and dug into my bag, fingers fumbling until I pulled out my compact mirror. My reflection stared back at me like a crime scene.
Swollen lips. Slight shadows under my eyes. A faint redness on my neck that I absolutely, categorically did not have the emotional capacity to deal with right now.
"Great," I whispered. "Fantastic. Ten out of ten. No notes."
I dabbed at my face with a tissue, wiped the corner of my mouth, smoothed my hair like that would undo anything, then straightened my shoulders.
Game face.
I turned the handle and walked in.
The familiar smell of home… clean floors, fabric softener, something warm from the kitchen, hit me instantly, and for half a second, I almost cried. Instead, I plastered on the brightest smile I had ever forced onto my face. The kind that should come with a warning label.
My mom stood near the hallway mirror, adjusting her earrings, purse already slung over her shoulder. She turned when she heard the door.
Her face lit up instantly.
"Baby!" she beamed. "There you are. Where have you been since last night?"
My smile widened. Too wide. Maniacal.
"At Adrian's," she added helpfully, already nodding like this made perfect sense.
I shook my head.
"No, Mom."
The word came out too fast.
Too sharp.
Her smile faltered just a little.
"No?" she echoed, turning fully toward me now.
Uh-oh.
Her eyes narrowed, not aggressively, just… observant. The way only mothers can look at you, like they've known you since you were soup.
"Then why," she said slowly, sniffing the air once, twice, "are you reeking of men's cologne?"
My soul left my body.
"And," she continued, gaze dropping deliberately to my oversized shirt and shorts, "why are you wearing a man's shirt and shorts, Phina?"
She tilted her head.
"Because if I can remember properly, if my memory isn't failing me, you left this house in a dress."
Time stopped.
My brain made a sound. Like a computer crashing.
I stared at her.
She stared at me.
The silence stretched so long I could hear my own heartbeat and the faint buzz of the refrigerator like it was mocking me.
"What happened?" she asked gently. Too gently.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Words lined up in my head like idiots waiting for a bus that wasn't coming.
Lie. Lie better. Say something. Anything.
My mind raced, slipping on its own panic.
Coffee spilled? Robbery? Spontaneous fashion donation? Alien abduction?
I swallowed hard, heat crawling up my neck as my pulse roared in my ears. My smile twitched, cracked at the edges, threatening to expose the screaming mess underneath.
Inside my head, the voice was merciless.
You're so stupid, Seraphina. Why did I forget about this?
The thought screamed through my head like a siren… loud, sharp, relentless, bouncing off the inside of my skull until it felt like my brain might split clean in half. It wasn't just a thought. It was an accusation. A full-blown indictment delivered in my own voice, merciless and echoing.
I swallowed.
Once.
Twice.
The lump in my throat refused to cooperate, stubborn and thick, like it had planted roots there out of spite. My tongue felt too big for my mouth, my lips too dry, my lungs suddenly unsure how breathing worked.
My mouth opened, and promptly betrayed me.
"M-mom," I stuttered.
Fantastic. Truly stellar. A real masterclass in confidence.
The word slipped out thin and shaky, wobbling in the air between us like it might collapse if anyone breathed too hard. My voice cracked like a teenager going through puberty and a midlife crisis at the same time, that humiliating, traitorous sound making heat rush straight to my ears.
My hands… oh God, my hands, suddenly became hyper-aware of themselves. They didn't know where to go, what to do, how to exist. They fidgeted uselessly at my sides, then grabbed the hem of my oversized shirt, twisting the fabric so tightly my knuckles turned pale, like the shirt might vanish and take me with it if I let go.
"Yes, baby?" my mom said.
Her tone was soft at first, automatic, warm. But her eyes… her eyes sharpened. They lingered on my face, tracing the puffiness around my eyes, the faint redness I hadn't been able to hide no matter how much water I splashed on my face that morning. She was really looking now.
Too closely.
Her smile faded, slowly, cautiously, like she was backing away from something unstable. It was replaced by that look.
That look.
The one that said she could smell bullshit from three rooms away and was already mentally preparing a shovel.
I laughed.
Why did I laugh?
It burst out of me wrong. Too loud. Too sudden. A short, brittle sound that didn't belong in the room and definitely didn't belong to me. It echoed awkwardly, then died, leaving an even heavier silence behind.
"Baby?" I repeated, nodding like one of those cheap dashboard toys with the loose springs. "You know… baby. Mom. Mother. Woman who gave birth to me."
I gestured vaguely between us, as if pointing out the obvious might somehow distract her from the very obvious emotional train wreck standing in front of her.
She raised an eyebrow.
Just one.
Slow. Deliberate.
My soul trembled.
That eyebrow had ended friendships. That eyebrow had dragged truths kicking and screaming into the open. That eyebrow had never, in the history of its existence, been raised without consequence.
"Seraphina," she said slowly, deliberately setting her purse down on the table.
The soft thud of it hitting the surface felt like a judge's gavel.
That was bad.
Very bad.
"Start talking."
Okay. Lie time.
I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs like I was about to dive underwater, bracing myself for the plunge. My chest expanded, my shoulders squared, and when I spoke, the words spilled out in a rush… too fast, too dramatic, tumbling over each other like they were afraid of being left behind.
"Okay, so… last night didn't exactly go as planned," I began, pacing now because standing still felt like waiting for execution. The floor beneath my feet suddenly felt too solid, too grounding, like it was daring me to stay present. "There was a misunderstanding, emotions were high, feelings were hurt, voices were raised… mine included, and I may or may not have left in a hurry."
I waved my hand vaguely, as if "left in a hurry" could cover everything from storming out dramatically to emotionally combusting.
Her eyes narrowed further. "A hurry?"
"Yes," I said quickly. "A very… urgent hurry."
The word urgent came out strained, stretched thin, like it was holding back something much uglier underneath.
She crossed her arms.
The room shrank.
"Why?"
My brain screamed ABORT, lights flashing, alarms blaring, but my mouth… my stupid, reckless mouth, was already sprinting ahead without permission.
"Because Adrian…" I said.
And stopped.
The name landed heavy in my chest, like a stone dropped into deep water. My heart stumbled, skipped, then tightened painfully, memories and images colliding all at once.
Her face softened instantly.
Too instantly.
"What about Adrian, baby?" she asked, voice gentle now, concerned. Protective.
And that's when my mouth committed murder.
"He's dead."
The words fell out clean.
Simple.
Final.
Silence followed. Not normal silence. Not the kind you can fill with a cough or a shuffle of feet. This was the kind of silence that dropped like a piano from the ceiling… sudden, crushing, impossible to ignore.
My mom's mouth fell open.
Wide.
So wide it reminded me… ridiculously, hysterically, of an electrocuted eel. The image popped into my head uninvited, inappropriate and absurd, and for half a second I almost laughed again.
"What?!" she shrieked. "Dead?! Adrian's dead?!"
She rushed toward me so fast I barely had time to react, her hands gripping my arms firmly, fingers digging in like she needed to anchor herself.
"How? What happened?" she demanded. "Was it an accident? A fight? Oh my God…"
Her hands flew to my face, cupping my cheeks, tilting my head left and right like she was inspecting a cracked vase.
"Is that why your eyes are swollen?" she cried. "My poor baby, did you see something traumatic? Are you in shock?"
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Oh no.
This had escalated wildly.
"Oh… no… Mom… wait…" I flailed, waving my hands frantically, trying to pry myself out of the emotional emergency she'd launched us into. "No no no no no."
She gasped again, louder this time. "Should we call someone? The police? His parents?"
"NO."
The word exploded out of me, sharp and panicked, bouncing off the walls.
Too loud.
She froze instantly, eyes wide, staring at me like I'd just grown a second head.
The room held its breath.
I swallowed hard, my throat burning now, heat rushing to my face as embarrassment and panic wrestled viciously for dominance.
"I don't mean dead dead," I said quickly, hands flying up in surrender. "Though," I added before my internal filter could stop me, "I wish he was."
The words hung there.
Heavy.
Her eyes narrowed into thin, dangerous slits.
"What," she said very slowly, every syllable carefully placed, "do you mean by that?"
I exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down my face, rubbing my temples like I could physically knead the chaos out of my head. My heart was still racing, still wild, but the lie was shifting now. Cracking. Morphing into something closer to the truth.
I looked at her.
Really looked.
At the concern etched into her features. The fear. The instinctive readiness to burn the world down for me if she had to.
And suddenly, the comedy drained just enough for something raw to slip through.
Something sharp.
Something final.
"He's dead to me, Mom," I said, my voice steadier now, edged with something cold and unmovable. "From the moment he decided to cheat on me… he became dead to me."