Erebus stands still after the child leaves,

  stunned—as if something inside him cracked halfway through the moment.

  A few seconds pass,

  heavy enough to rearrange everything he thought he knew.

  He realizes, suddenly, that his mother...

  did not run away.

  Did not abandon him.

  Did not disappear by choice.

  She was not allowed to return.

  Or her life ended in a way

  he was never meant to know.

  Questions pile up without order:

  Where?

  How?

  When?

  He tries to remember,

  but his memory offers only a painful emptiness.

  He stands there longer than he should.

  Then—

  a sharp horn cuts through his thoughts.

  A speeding car nearly hits him,

  stopping at the last second.

  The driver shouts, angry,

  but the words never reach him.

  It feels as if Erebus has just returned

  from somewhere far away.

  He does not respond.

  Does not apologize.

  He simply walks away slowly,

  without looking back,

  and heads to his apartment.

  He closes the door behind him.

  And there,

  inside the silence,

  he realizes that the justice he thought he had begun...

  was not the beginning.

  It was a delayed reminder

  of an older crime—

  one closer than he had imagined.

  The shock was not that the truth surfaced,

  but that it had always been close...

  carefully hidden.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  ?

  The same sentence repeats in his head:

  My mother... did not disappear.

  My mother... did not disappear.

  The words lose their sound,

  but not their weight.

  A slow pressure forms in the center of his chest,

  as if something has been placed there

  and cannot be removed.

  He mourns her deeply.

  Not with explosive grief,

  but with a cold sorrow that slows his breath

  and weighs down his limbs.

  He thinks:

  How did it end?

  Who was there?

  Where?

  He tries to remember,

  but his mind gives him only a dull ache behind the eyes

  and the sense of thoughts circling endlessly.

  Overwhelmed, he goes to the fridge.

  The cold floor beneath his feet reminds him

  he has been standing still for too long.

  He grabs a beer.

  Drinks the first quickly,

  the second more slowly.

  The taste is bitter,

  but the bitterness doesn't matter.

  His head feels heavy.

  A numbness creeps into his hands.

  Not drunkenness—

  just a temporary escape.

  He sleeps.

  When he wakes,

  it is to the light of sunset.

  Dry eyes.

  Dry mouth.

  A heavier head than before.

  Orange light crawls along the walls,

  as if the day is finally closing its mouth.

  Then—

  a knock at the door.

  "Hello? Is anyone there?"

  Erebus rises slowly,

  his knees stiff,

  his steps slightly unsteady.

  He looks through the small window.

  Lucas.

  A slight knot forms in his stomach.

  Why is he here?

  Open the door?

  Or pretend he didn't hear?

  After a moment, he opens it—

  but Lucas has already stepped away,

  as if he had decided to leave.

  "Lucas...?"

  "Is that you?"

  Lucas turns, genuinely surprised.

  "Oh... Erebus.

  I thought no one was home."

  "I tried calling you several times,"

  Lucas says.

  "You didn't answer,

  so I thought I'd check on you."

  "I was exhausted today,"

  Erebus replies.

  "I didn't notice my phone."

  "Come in,"

  Erebus says, rubbing his eyes.

  "Living room's there.

  I'll grab us a beer."

  Lucas walks in.

  Erebus stays behind for a moment,

  then heads to the kitchen.

  In the living room,

  Lucas's gaze drifts to the table.

  Old papers.

  An envelope.

  Unfamiliar characters.

  And numbers.

  When Erebus returns,

  he freezes.

  Lucas is standing near the table,

  looking at the envelope.

  "No—leave it.

  It's not for reading."

  His voice comes out sharper than intended.

  "Sorry,"

  Lucas says immediately.

  "I didn't mean to pry.

  I just noticed..."

  He hesitates.

  "The numbers.

  They look Japanese."

  Erebus stiffens.

  "How do you know?"

  Lucas shrugs lightly.

  "I don't know the language.

  The numbers just look different."

  He says nothing more.

  Silence fills the room.

  Erebus takes the envelope,

  places it in a cabinet,

  and closes the door

  slower than necessary.

  "Have you ever felt,"

  he asks suddenly,

  "like you're outside yourself?"

  Lucas thinks for a moment.

  "Yeah.

  That feeling sometimes has a name.

  Depersonalization.

  It comes suddenly...

  and usually fades the same way."

  He pauses, then adds:

  "It shows up more when we're alone.

  And eases when someone's with us."

  Erebus nods slowly.

  "Maybe I'm just overthinking."

  Lucas smiles faintly.

  "We all do."

  Time passes.

  When Lucas leaves,

  Erebus closes the door

  and leans against it.

  The words return.

  The past.

  Something shifts in his chest.

  Not pain.

  Not relief.

  He takes a deep breath.

  Then he steps outside.

  He is tired.

  Exhausted.

  Unable to think anymore.

  He means Nixi's place.

  He brings chocolate and knocks on her door.

  She opens it smiling.

  Warmth reaches him before he even steps inside.

  They sit on the couch.

  Simple conversation.

  Light laughter.

  "The chocolate is amazing,"

  she says, standing to get water.

  When she returns,

  Erebus lifts the glass higher.

  "Erebus!"

  She laughs, trying to reach it.

  "On one condition," he says.

  "Who am I?"

  She smiles.

  "Erebus Ashcroft."

  He gives her the glass.

  Watches her drink like a child.

  Later,

  they watch a movie.

  Her head rests on his shoulder.

  "Do you remember the first time we met?"

  she asks softly.

  "In high school," he replies.

  "You smiled a lot...

  and your braces were impossible to miss."

  She laughs.

  "You didn't like them?"

  "On the contrary," he says.

  "I loved them. Obsessively."

  He pauses.

  "I remember our first kiss.

  I was nervous.

  Too close.

  I reached out without thinking...

  and slipped my finger gently inside your mouth.

  For a second,

  I felt the cool metal of your braces against my skin."

  He lets out a soft breath.

  "It wasn't bold.

  It wasn't planned.

  It was strange.

  And that strangeness...

  made me fall for you even more."

  She looks at him, smiling.

  "And I remember the mole on your neck," she says.

  "And the dark circles under your eyes.

  You already had them back then."

  She studies him for a moment.

  "I don't know if I remember the past...

  or if you simply never changed."

  He tilts his head slightly.

  He feels calm.

  Then—

  A thought slips in.

  Uninvited.

  The child.

  The question.

  The envelope.

  He keeps smiling anyway,

  letting her rest against him.

  The peace here is real—

  but fragile.

  And Erebus knows, without looking,

  some things—

  even in the warmest moments—

  do not disappear.

  In the sound of silence—

  a knock breaks through the door.