Page 85 of When the Storm Breaks
“Just grew apart,” I say, exhaling hard as I fight the tears threatening to rise. “Which sounds weird to say about your parents, but… they’re busy with their own lives, and I just—” I pause, trying to gather myself. “I just didn’t fit in anymore.”
Haiyden leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching me with a blank expression. “Doesn’t sound like the whole story.”
Irritation bubbles in my chest. Why does he feel entitled to push when he’s the one who never opens up?
“Why does it matter?”
His voice is calm, but there’s curiosity layered beneath it. “Doesn’t.”
That easy dismissal stings more than it should. But then he goes quiet, like he’s done asking, and I can finally breathe again. The tightness in my muscles starts to ease when I realize he’s not trying to pry.
The only sound between us now is the faint scrape of his spoonagainst the bowl.
I take a slow breath before speaking. “They’re good people. Raised me well. I think they just… didn’t know what to do with me after a while.”
“Do with you?” His brows lift slightly.
I force a small shrug, like I haven’t spent years trying to untangle it. “I had a lot going on. I think I just… wore them out.” A dry laugh escapes me. “Loving me is hungry work. It was easier on everyone if I just left.”
When I finally look up, our eyes meet, and for a moment, something flashes through his expression.
Understanding.
“Sometimes leaving is the only thing that makes sense,” he says, his voice quieter now.
I shift in my chair, letting the weight of his words settle in. He gets it. For some reason, I believe him.
A silence settles between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. I start picking at my toast again, needing something to do with my hands. Haiyden watches me for a beat, then looks away, lazily scooping another bite of cereal.
“Well, their loss, I guess.” His voice is lighter now. “You’re not so bad to have around.”
I blink, surprised. Coming from him, that may as well be a love letter.
A small smile tugs at my lips. “High praise, coming from you.”
“Don’t get used to it.” A smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth.
I laugh softly, the heaviness finally breaking.
The next question’s out before I can talk myself out of it. “Whatabout you? Do you ever visit home?”
He tries to stay casual, but I can hear the careful edge in his voice. “Not really.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “Not really, or not at all?”
He hesitates, like he’s weighing how much to give me. Then, to my surprise, he doesn’t hold back.
“We had a falling out.”
I search his face for something—anger, sadness, regret—but he keeps it locked down. I could push for more. I almost do.
“So… not at all,” he adds, quieter this time.
Something about the way he says it makes my skin prickle. It’s too vague. Too clean. Like the edges of the truth have been sanded down.
But I let it go. For now.
“Guess we’ve got that in common,” I say.
