Chapter 4: When Seeing You Hurts

For weeks, I listened for her footsteps, waited for her voice. The house felt colder, emptier. I started talking to the shadows, just to hear something besides silence. I missed her so much it hurt.

Much later, I learned why. That day, Mom overheard what I said. She didn't tell anyone—she just cried alone for a long time.

I found her once, curled up on the bathroom floor, her shoulders shaking. She didn't see me, but I saw her—broken, lost, and more alone than I'd ever been. My heart ached for her.

She was always sensitive. She couldn't help crying.

Every little thing seemed to set her off—a song on the radio, a child's laughter, the sight of my old baby shoes. She'd cry for hours, sometimes days, and no one ever tried to comfort her. The house felt like it was drowning in her sadness.

When the dads noticed she was upset, they checked all the security footage in the house.

They didn't care about her feelings, just about control. They watched every moment, every conversation, searching for the source of her distress like it was a puzzle to be solved. It made my skin crawl.

They found out and made sure it would never happen again.

Ms. Ramirez was gone by morning. No one spoke her name again. It was like she never existed. The silence after her was deafening.

After that, no one at home would ever get close to me again. Their only job, besides keeping me alive, was to do nothing else for me.

The staff kept their distance, their eyes always averted. They fed me, clothed me, but never hugged me, never smiled. I learned to tie my own shoes, to braid my own hair, to pretend I didn't need anyone. I told myself I was fine.

Getting close to others made Mom sad, so I had to be alone.

I built walls around myself, thick and high. I stopped asking questions, stopped hoping for kindness. Loneliness became my armor. Sometimes I wondered if I'd ever feel safe again.

Three months later, I saw Mom.

I'd caught glimpses of her before—at parties, through half-open doors—but this was the first time I really saw her. She was more beautiful than I remembered, her hair shining like gold in the afternoon sun. But there was something hollow in her eyes that made my chest ache.

That was the first time I really remember seeing her. I was so shocked I couldn't say a word.

I stood frozen in the doorway, hands clenched at my sides. She looked like a painting—perfect, untouchable. I didn't know what to say, so I just stared, wide-eyed and silent. My heart pounded in my ears.

Shocked that my mom was so beautiful—like a fairy, every strand of hair perfect.

She wore a pale blue dress, her skin glowing. I wanted to run to her, to throw my arms around her waist, but something held me back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the sense that I didn't belong. My feet felt glued to the floor.

Shocked that she was curled up in Dad Carter's arms, her eyes dazed, like a child being spoon-fed medicine.

He held her close, whispering something in her ear. She didn't look at him—didn't look at anyone. Her gaze was far away, lost in some private pain. I felt invisible, like I was intruding on something sacred and sad.

At the time, I didn't understand how awkward it was, but I felt uneasy anyway.

There was a tension in the room, a heaviness that pressed down on my chest. I didn't know why, but I knew something was wrong. My skin prickled with discomfort.

Even with the staff hinting, I couldn't bring myself to call her Mom.

They nudged me forward, whispering, "Go on, Zoey. Say hello to your mother." But the word stuck in my throat, too heavy to lift. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth.

Until Mom's eyes cleared, she opened her mouth wide, looked at me in surprise, and cried out,

Her voice sliced through the silence, sharp and clear. For a moment, she seemed truly awake, truly alive. I felt hope spark in my chest.

"Zoey!"

The name echoed through the room, full of longing and regret. It was the first time I'd heard her say my name like she meant it.

Her face turned bright red. She quickly covered her clothes and pushed Dad Carter away.

She scrambled to her feet, hands shaking. I saw embarrassment, shame, and something like hope flicker across her face. I wanted to run to her, but I was frozen.

Her feet had just touched the ground when tears spilled down her face.