CHAPTER 1

  The hallway light flickers, and I almost laugh—half from exhaustion, the other half from something I won’t admit even to myself. There’s a stack of folded laundry that hasn’t moved in days, even though it’s just me and EJ now. He’s in the living room, knees pressed into the carpet, lining up little figurines for a battle only he understands.

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  He’s holding the lizard again. The same rubbery green thing with the jagged tail and sharp eyes. He loves it. I ask him about it sometimes.

  He tells me things like, “He’s misunderstood.”

  I just know that things like that destroy more often than not. And if you ask me, that sounds like his fault.

  I don’t really know where he gets these ideas. I don’t know how to respond when he looks at me for confirmation, like he’s waiting to see if I agree. He’s too smart for his own good. I can’t take credit for that—though I’d like to.

  “Hey,” I say softly, kneeling down to his level. “You got your stuff ready for the week?”

  He nods. “Grandma told me not to forget my cards this time. Dad doesn’t like it when I do.”

  Typical—him not trusting me with important things. Honestly, it’s fair. I’ve almost thrown those cards away more than once while EJ’s been gone. I’ve found them in couch cushions, the laundry basket, even the fridge once. He has so many of them now, I don’t see why it matters.

  I joke, “When are you going to teach me how to play your little game with these things?”

  EJ rolls his eyes—exactly like his father. “When you can hear the cards’ heart.”

  He smirks, all confidence and pride, even though he said it wrong. I can’t help but laugh.

  “I’ll keep my ears open,” I tell him.

  The doorbell rings, and with it comes that familiar mix of relief and resentment. I open the door with a halfhearted smile for Elena, who greets EJ like he’s the best part of her week. He probably is. She used to ask how I was, used to stay and talk for a bit. Not so much anymore. I’m guessing that’s Elias’s doing, too.

  “He ate,” I say, handing over EJ’s backpack, “and his cards that his father bought are in there—just like His Majesty wanted.”

  She nods. “Alright. Thank you.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  It’s the influence that scares me. I used to call his parents my parents. I used to say mom and dad. We joked. We laughed. That’s gone now.

  EJ pauses on the porch and looks back at me.

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Don’t be mad at Dad, please.”

  That stops me cold.

  “I’m not mad,” I lie. “It’s just a joke.”

  He stares at me for a moment, then nods—like he’s already decided not to believe me. He tucks the dinosaur under one arm and shuffles down the steps.

  I don’t even know why I watch from the window as they leave. Habit, I guess. Muscle memory from back when I used to watch for him. Back when he was mine.

  But Elias doesn’t come to the house anymore. He hasn’t in a long time. These days, it’s his parents who pick up our son. It’s been like that for a while now. Just polite greetings. Tired smiles. Like everyone’s playing their part. Like I’m just another stop on their way home.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  I watch as his mother helps EJ into the car. He barely glances back. He used to cry when he left, clinging to my legs, begging me not to make him go. Even knowing how much he loved our little family, we still pushed him to stay with his grandparents some weekends.

  Now he just goes.

  Like it’s normal.

  Like I’m the obligation.

  Like his real family is with his father.

  The way it rips me apart every time—

  The car pulls away. I let the curtain fall.

  “He still doesn’t come himself?”

  I’d almost forgotten my sister was here. She’s curled up on my couch, legs tucked beneath her, wearing that knowing look I hate.

  I exhale. “No.”

  She hums, like that confirms everything. “Figures.”

  I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

  “What? I’m just saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying.”

  She sighs, stretching. “You always get like this after they pick up your son.”

  I don’t answer. Because she’s right.

  It’s not like I want him back. God, I know better than that. I know exactly the kind of person Elias is. I know how he thinks, how he rationalizes things, how he convinces himself that whatever he’s doing is for the best.

  But that doesn’t stop the anger.

  Not even at him—at myself.

  For still feeling something.

  For still hoping, in some stupid, secret part of me, that one day he’ll knock on that door. That he’ll look at me the way he used to—before he ruined everything.

  Instead, I get his parents. I get a version of him filtered through other people.

  “I need to clean up,” I mutter.

  My sister watches me, but she doesn’t say anything else.

  Good.

  I turn on the TV for background noise—one of those slow, tragic romances I used to love. I sit down, trying to breathe.

  Then the song starts.

  Our song.

  I freeze.

  It’s stupid. It’s just a song.

  But my throat tightens. My vision blurs. And suddenly, I’m not here anymore. I’m in his car—the first time he played it for me, telling me it reminded him of us. I hear his voice, low and smooth, singing under his breath. I watch his hands on the wheel, tapping the beat with his nails.

  And just like that, the anger comes back.

  I shut off the TV, gripping the remote until my knuckles ache.

  This is what he does to me.

  Even now.

  Even when he’s not here.

  Elias had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world. Not just any world—his world. Like you were placed on a pedestal, separate from everyone else. The way he spoke—so certain, so effortlessly in control—could make even chaos feel like it made sense.

  And I believed him.

  Even when I shouldn’t have.

  I wish I could say I was surprised when it all fell apart.

  But I wasn’t.

  I spent years learning how to love a man who never stayed in one place emotionally. He always felt like he was halfway out the door—even when he swore he wasn’t.

  And yet—

  Here we are.