THE ARRIVAL

Flashes. Pieces. Moments.

Her father's voice, sharp and unrelenting. Her mother's, rising to meet it. The crack of something—maybe a glass, maybe the last piece of patience between them.

"I can't do this anymore."

"Then don't."

"You think this is what's best for them?"

"You think staying is?"

The echoes bleed together. Louder. Angrier. The air is thick with something she doesn't know how to name—resentment, exhaustion, finality.

Sia grips the staircase railing, watching the words lash out like open wounds. She should move. Should say something. But she stays rooted to the spot, fingers curling against the cool wood as her parents tear each other apart.

Then—

Glass shattering.

A plate. A wine glass. She's not sure. But the sound rips through the house like a gunshot.

Sophie moves first, appearing beside her in the hallway, her presence warm but stiff with tension. Their mother is standing in the kitchen now, hands flat against the counter, shoulders rising and falling in ragged breaths.

Their father exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"This is over," he says, his voice low but edged with something final.

The weight in Sia's chest sinks deeper. She's known for a while that this was coming, but knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.

Another flash—

The echoes bleed together. Doors slamming. Papers rustling—the divorce papers, thick and final.

Another flash--

The living room, half-empty.

Suitcases lined up near the door, the walls stripped bare of family photos.

Sophie, kneeling beside an open suitcase, folding clothes with practiced ease. She moves like this is just another task, another thing to check off a list, but Sia can see the tension in her hands, the way her fingers grip the fabric just a little too tightly.

Their mother stands near the door, face unreadable except for the exhaustion clinging to her features.

Their father is in the doorway. Silent. Watching.

His jaw is tight, arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he wants to say something—but he doesn't. And maybe that's what hurts the most.

Because for all the yelling, all the slammed doors, this moment is quiet.Sia, standing in the middle of it all, feeling like a ghost in her own life.

Final.

Sia doesn't remember moving, only the weight in her chest as she stepped outside.

The slam of the car door.

The start of an ending.

And as the car pulled away, she kept her eyes forward, but the ache inside her whispered the truth.

She'd miss him.

No matter how broken things had become, he was still her dad.

And now, he was just another thing she was leaving behind.

---

Now.

The hum of tires on pavement pulls her back. The car feels too quiet, the silence stretching between them. Sia grips the door handle, fingers pressing into the smooth surface.

The town rolls past her window—unfamiliar streets, unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar everything.

The town looked normal enough, but something about it felt... off. Maybe it was just me.

She exhales slowly, stealing a glance beside her. Sophie sits with her legs crossed, phone in hand, scrolling through whatever world she's already started fitting into. Her lips curve into a small, knowing smile, like she's already decided that this is a fresh start, an adventure.

Sia wishes she could do the same.

Their mother hums softly from the driver's seat, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. The air outside is different here—lighter, fresher—but it does nothing to loosen the tight feeling in Sia's chest.

Her mother makes a turn onto a quiet street. The houses are bigger here, more polished. They sit in neat rows, their porches lined with rocking chairs and potted plants, driveways empty except for the occasional parked car.

Then, their house comes into view.

It's bigger than their old one. Neater. More put together. The kind of house that looks like it belongs to someone else.

The car slows to a stop in the driveway.

Sia's grip on the door handle loosens.

Sophie stretches, tossing her phone into her lap before turning to Sia with a grin. "Ready?"

Not even a little.

But she forces a small smile anyway. "Yeah."

Her mother kills the engine and steps out first, moving to grab the first of their bags from the trunk. Sophie follows, already moving like she belongs here.

Sia lingers a second longer, letting the weight of it all settle in her chest.

"We're home," she murmurs.

And for some reason, the word feels strange.