Page 108 of When the Storm Breaks
And just like that, he turns and walks out like he didn’t just short-circuit my entire nervous system.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and somehow, it feels final.
I don’t move, at first.
I just stand there—bare, the steam curling around me—and catch sight of myself in the fogged-up mirror.
I reach up, swipe a streak clear—and there I am.
Flushed cheeks. Sweat-damp hair clinging to my temples. Eyes wide with something I haven’t seen in a long time.
I trace my features slowly. The lines of my face. The curve of my mouth. The color of my eyebrows. The faint freckles dusting across my nose—more now than the last time I counted.
Everything looks the same. But it feels different.
Like I’m not borrowing this body anymore.
Like I’ve returned to it.
Like it finally belongs to me again.
Like I’ve made it back—after months of floating, disappearing, grieving.
Like this is me.Reallyme.
Happy. Alive. Free.
A few minutes pass, and I still haven’t stepped into the shower. That’s when I hear it—yelling. It cuts through the sound of running water, distant but unmistakable.
I freeze.
For a moment, I’m not sure whether I should be concerned or scared. Whether he needs help, or if I’ve just stepped too close to something I was never meant to hear.
I want to ignore it. I try. Try to let the white noise of the water pull me back, convince myself it’s nothing.
But it keeps going.
The words are muffled, too low to make out at first. Still, something—curiosity, or maybe something heavier—draws me forward. My bare feet move automatically, barely making a sound against the tile as I step toward the bathroom door.
The shower is still running behind me, hissing like a warning.
I press my ear to the door. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself.
“Don’t fucking start this again,” Haiyden spits.
Silence.
“You always find a way to justify it.”
More silence.
“Just remember… I kept your secret, Dad.”
And in his voice, I hear it. The break. The edge of something too big for one person to hold.
And I know I’ve crossed a line. I’ve listened in on a part of his life that wasn’t mine to have. That he wasn’t ready to give.
Shame floods through me. I turn away, careful not to make a sound, and tiptoe back to the shower. I pull the curtain aside as quietly as I can and step in, letting the scalding water rush over my skin.
