Chapter 13
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Chapter 13: Silent Distance
Leah sighed as she glanced at her phone. The reminder of the party her parents had forced her to attend felt like a weight pressing down on her chest. She looked around Sylvia’s cozy living room, where the warmth and laughter of her family made the thought of leaving even harder.
Sylvia sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a stack of magazines. She looked up and noticed Leah’s distracted expression. “You okay?”
Leah nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just remembered I have to leave soon. My parents are dragging me to some boring party.”
Sylvia frowned. “Ugh, I don’t envy you. Want me to fake an emergency so you can stay?”
Leah laughed softly. “Tempting, but I don’t think that would work. Thanks, though.”
Sylvia stood up, walking Leah to the door. “Text me if you need a sanity check,” she said with a grin.
“I will,” Leah promised, stepping outside.
As she walked home, the cool evening air did little to ease the tension in her chest. The streets were quiet, and the faint glow of streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. Leah’s thoughts drifted to the morning argument with her parents, their sharp words still echoing in her mind.
By the time she reached the house, the familiar dread of walking into silence had settled over her. She opened the door quietly, stepping into the grand but empty foyer.
Her parents’ voices floated faintly from the dining room, but Leah didn’t stop to listen. She went straight to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
She leaned against the door for a moment, closing her eyes. Just get through tonight, she told herself. It’s only a few hours.
Leah moved to her closet, scanning the rows of dresses her mother had insisted she keep. She pulled out a sleek black dress, simple but elegant, and got ready with mechanical precision. When she looked in the mirror, the girl staring back felt like a stranger.
Downstairs, her parents were waiting. Her mother adjusted her earrings nervously, while her father scrolled through his phone.
“Leah,” her mother said softly when she saw her. “You look lovely.”
Leah didn’t respond. She grabbed her clutch from the table, her expression blank.
Her mother hesitated, then took a step closer. “Leah, about earlier…”
Leah’s gaze flicked to her mother briefly before she turned away. “Let’s just go,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
Her father cleared his throat. “We should leave now if we don’t want to be late.”
The car ride to the party was silent, the air heavy with tension. Leah stared out of the window, her reflection blending with the blur of city lights. Her parents exchanged glances but said nothing.
They both knew they had been wrong earlier, letting their frustrations spill over onto Leah. But neither of them knew how to start the conversation or what to say. Their guilt hung between them like an invisible wall.
When they arrived at the venue, Leah stepped out of the car without waiting for her parents. The grand hall was alive with chatter and laughter, the soft strains of classical music weaving through the air.
Leah moved through the crowd like a ghost, her mind elsewhere. She smiled politely when necessary but avoided lingering in any conversation.
Her parents watched her from a distance, their expressions tense. They felt the weight of their actions but couldn’t bring themselves to address it. Instead, they hoped that, in time, things would go back to normal.
Leah found a quiet spot on the balcony, stepping outside for a moment of solitude. The cool night breeze brushed against her skin, and she leaned on the railing, staring at the city lights below.
Her phone buzzed in her clutch, pulling her from her thoughts.
Sylvia: Hey, how’s it going? Still alive?
Leah: Barely. This is torture.
Sylvia: Hang in there. You’re stronger than this party.
Leah: Thanks, Syl. You always know what to say.
A faint smile tugged at Leah’s lips. Even from afar, Sylvia managed to make her feel less alone.
When Leah returned to the party, she avoided her parents, sticking to the edges of the room. Her mother watched her from across the hall, her heart heavy with regret. Her father sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.
“She’s so distant,” her mother murmured.
Her father nodded. “I know. But what can we do? We’ve already…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
They both felt the weight of their guilt but didn’t know how to bridge the gap. Apologizing felt too raw, too vulnerable. Instead, they hoped that time would heal the wounds they had caused.
Leah, however, wasn’t ready to forgive or forget. The sting of their words lingered, and the growing distance between them felt insurmountable. For now, all she could do was endure.
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