I don't know how to believe you

The silence snapped.

"Where have you been?"

Samantha's mother took one slow step forward, keys still dangling in her hand, her face a storm of confusion and concern.

Ron stood frozen beside Samantha, half in front of her like some half-prepared shield. Samantha's grip on the doorknob tightened.

Her mother's voice cracked. "Samantha. Do you have any idea—any idea—what you've put me through?"

Samantha didn't respond. Her throat clenched.

"I came home and you were gone. The hospital called me. You left. No calls, no notes—nothing. I thought you'd—"

"Don't." Samantha's voice was quiet but razor-sharp. "Don't act like you care now."

Her mom blinked, stunned. "Excuse me?"

"You're the reason I ended up there in the first place."

"That's not fair."

"It's not?" Samantha stepped forward, bag slung over one shoulder, her jaw set. "You didn't believe me. You called it a breakdown. You told me I needed help."

"You did need help." Her mom's voice wavered, trying to stay calm. "You were scaring me, Sam. The things you were saying, the way you'd—wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. I didn't know what else to do."

"You didn't even try to listen."

"I tried everything. You shut me out. I was watching my daughter fall apart in front of me and I didn't know how to reach you."

"No," Samantha snapped. "You weren't watching. You were diagnosing. Containing. Fixing what you didn't understand."

Ron quietly stepped back, out of the line of fire. His gaze flicked between them, but he didn't interrupt.

Her mother looked like she'd been slapped. "I am your mother, Samantha. I did what I thought was best."

"You thought locking me away was best?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Wasn't it?"

The hallway shrank around them. The air was thick with everything they hadn't said for months.

"I wasn't crazy," Samantha said, softer now, her voice cracking at the edge. "I was scared. I needed you to believe me."

Her mother's eyes shimmered. "I was scared. You were slipping through my fingers and I didn't know how to hold on."

Samantha's jaw trembled. "You let go."

They stared at each other.

Then Samantha turned to the door.

"Sam—"

She paused.

"You're not listening now, either."

And then she walked out.

---

Her mother didn't follow.

The house felt impossibly quiet once they were gone. The hallway, still warm with the echo of voices, now hung in silence like a held breath.

She walked slowly to the door, placed a hand on the frame. Looked out. But the street was empty.

She sat down on the stairs, keys still clenched in her hand.

So much she wanted to say. So much she didn't understand. She had tried. Hadn't she? She had only wanted to protect her. That had to count for something.

She thought of the nights Samantha used to crawl into her bed during thunderstorms. The way she used to sketch on the back of school notebooks. The laughter before everything got strange.

She buried her face in her hands.

"I want to believe you, Sam," she whispered to the empty hallway. "I do. I just… don't know how."