Chapter 3
Leo slowly backed away from Maya, his boots crunching softly on the fragments of the shattered white mug. He dragged a hand down his shaved head, the stubble rough against his palm, and let out a long, shuddering sigh. The military mindset demanded a situation report, a clear assessment of damages before determining a course of action, but right now, every single metric of safety and sanity was deep in the red.
“Maya,” Leo began, his voice dropping to a low, exhausted register that commanded more authority than his earlier roar. “Get up. Go clean yourself up. We need to talk.”
Maya scoffed, wiping a stray drop of water from her cheek with the back of her hand. She refused to move, remaining wedged tightly in the corner between the bookshelf and the radiator. “There is nothing to talk about, Leo. You walk through that door after an entire year of radio silence and think you can just drop your bags and start barking orders like a drill sergeant? You don’t know anything about what happened here.”
“Then enlighten me,” Leo retorted, stepping toward his abandoned duffel bag and hoisting it back onto his shoulder before carrying it down the short hallway toward his old bedroom.
The bedroom smelled of dust and closed windows, untouched since the day he shipped out. He tossed the bag onto the unmade mattress and stood by the window, watching a stray cat pick its way across the overgrown front lawn. The contrast between the rigid, predictable order of the barracks and the chaotic, emotional minefield of his childhood home was staggering. He had spent the last twelve months dodging bullets and managing troop morale, believing that his absence was a noble sacrifice for his family’s financial security. But money couldn't buy patience, and allotments couldn't substitute for human empathy.
When Leo returned to the living room a few minutes later, having swapped his camouflage uniform for a plain gray t-shirt and dark jeans, the scene had shifted slightly. Clara was no longer on the floor. Maya had reluctantly helped her grandmother into a cushioned rocking chair by the brick fireplace, wrapping a dry wool blanket around the old woman’s shoulders. Clara was staring blankly into the cold hearth, her hands wrapped tightly around a fresh cup of steaming chamomile tea that Maya had silently prepared.
Eleanor remained on the couch, her head resting against the floral upholstery, fast asleep or lost in the labyrinth of her own fading mind.
May you like
Maya stood by the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed defensively over her blue tank top. She looked younger now, the aggressive posture fading slightly to reveal deep, bruised purple shadows under her eyes—telltale signs of chronic, bone-deep exhaustion.
“She fell three times yesterday,” Maya said quietly, breaking the silence before Leo could speak. Her voice lacked its previous venom, replaced by a hollow, defeated rasp. “And every time, I had to pick her up. My back feels like it’s broken, Leo. And nobody called. Nobody visited. The neighbors pretend they don't see us when we walk down the driveway.”
