Chapter 12: The Fragile Peace
Chapter 12: The Fragile Peace
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The Quiet of Dinner
Dinner is a quiet affair.
Not completely silent—Lily still chatters, my parents still make small talk—but there's a subtle understanding in the air.
A sense that no one wants to push too hard.
I match their energy, keeping my expressions neutral, my tone even, allowing them to believe that today was just like any other.
The forced lightness of the conversation is suffocating, a fragile peace built on unspoken anxieties.
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Dinner Conversation
I try to make my mind focus on something else as I sit at the dinner table, but the image of Serena lingers.
My mom's voice breaks through the haze.
"So, Derrick, how was school today?"
I freeze for a second, unsure how to answer.
Lily glances over from her spot at the table. "He's probably got some homework to finish. He looks like he's in deep thought."
I force a smile, nodding slightly. "Yeah, just school stuff."
My dad raises an eyebrow. "Did anything interesting happen today?"
I meet his gaze for a split second before looking down at my plate. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Nothing out of the ordinary?" Lily snickers. "You mean no girls confessing their undying love for you?"
I roll my eyes. "Very funny, Lily."
Lily smirks but doesn't push further. My mom shifts in her seat, sensing the tension in the air. She changes the topic quickly.
"Have you seen the new book in the bookstore? They had a sale, I think," she asks, trying to spark a different kind of conversation.
I nod. "I'll check it out later."
The conversation dies again, and I chew slowly, my mind still caught up in the library.
My mom gives me a soft look, as if trying to gauge whether I'm okay. But she doesn't say anything more. She just lets me be.
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Settling into the Night
After dinner, I excuse myself from the table. "I've got some homework to finish," I mumble, already heading for the door.
"Okay, honey. Don't stay up too late," my mom calls after me.
I barely hear her. I'm already retreating to the sanctuary of my room.
The moment my door clicks shut, the weight of the day settles.
I sit down at my desk, open my laptop, and try to focus on the task at hand. But I find myself staring at the blinking cursor on the screen, lost in thought.
I glance at my phone again, and there it is—Serena's message.
It was from earlier today, after the library.
"Hey, don't let them get to you, okay? You don't deserve any of that. I'm always here if you need someone to talk to."
A small smile tugs at my lips as I read her words. The thought of her concern feels like a balm for the scratches left by the day.
And suddenly, I can't stop thinking about her.
The library.
The way she looked at me.
The way she saw me.
The oak tree outside flashes in my mind—its silent, unshakable presence, a witness to something I can't yet define.
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Serena's Texts and a New Understanding
I sit on my bed, absently scrolling through my phone, then stop. I open a chat window with Serena, hesitant at first but then compelled to respond.
"Thanks for everything today, Serena. You didn't have to, but it means a lot. I don't know what I'd do without you."
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for a reply.
A few moments pass before her message pops up:
"You're welcome. And you don't ever have to do anything alone, Derrick. I know we don't always talk much, but if you need someone, I'm here."
I read it over several times. It hits me in a way I didn't expect. There's a sincerity there, one that seems to reach out and pull me closer.
"I'm not used to this," I type, pausing again. "Being able to trust someone like this."
A long pause follows.
Then, finally, Serena responds.
"I get it. But trust me, you don't have to be alone in this. Let me in."
The weight of her words rests in the quiet of my room, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe it. That maybe things don't have to stay as they are. That maybe someone does care.
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The Hum of the Night
The evening stretches on, the hum of the night like a slow wave crashing against my thoughts. I finish my homework mechanically, but my mind is elsewhere—on the warmth of Serena's words, on the thought of not having to face everything alone.
Finally, I push the work aside, lie back in bed, and stare at the ceiling.
You don't have to deal with this alone.
Her voice echoes in my mind.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to rest. To accept the small, fragile peace that comes with knowing someone is watching out for me.
Sleep creeps in slowly, like a steady tide, and when it pulls me under, I surrender to it with a quiet sigh.
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