Secrets

Stella arrived at her front door, pausing to compose herself. She straightened her clothes, took a deep breath, and walked inside. As she entered, she saw her mother in the kitchen, preparing dinner; she glanced up, her expression conflicted—her face held a smile, but her eyes showed concern.

"Stella, you're back early. Did something happen at school?" she asked, her voice gentle but probing.

Stella, trying to steady her voice, replied, "No, just senior schedules end really early."

Her mother studied her for a moment, her gaze piercing but soft. Then she nodded. "Alright, honey. Since you're here, you might as well help me with dinner. It's your first day; there shouldn't be too much homework yet, right?"

Relieved that her mother didn't seem to notice anything unusual, Stella turned to go upstairs. "Sure, Mom, let me change into something more comfortable."

Stella hurried up the stairs, her footsteps quick and light. Once out of sight, her mother set down the knife she was using and picked up her phone. She dialed a number, and after a moment, a voice answered on the other end.

"Hello?"

"She knows," Stella's mother said abruptly.

There was a brief silence. Then the voice on the other end replied, "I'm coming home."

The call ended as quickly as it had begun. Stella's mother placed the phone down, her expression unreadable, and resumed chopping ingredients for dinner. She glanced up at the stairs every so often, her mind clearly elsewhere.

(Five Minutes Later)

Stella came downstairs, now dressed in something more comfortable. Her mother turned to her with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Your father just called. He said he'll be home early today."

Stella thought nothing of it and simply nodded. She joined her mother in the kitchen, and they worked together. Their conversation was light and mostly centered on cooking.

"How's Rachel? I didn't have time to talk to her mother after they got back from... where was it again?" her mother asked, trying to keep the conversation casual.

"Costa Rica," Stella reminded her.

"Yes, Costa Rica. What did Rachel say about it?"

Stella's voice took on a wistful tone as she replied, "She said it was amazing. There were these huge trees, and the water was so clear it reflected the sky like a mirror. When the sun went down, she could see the night sky in a way she'd never seen before."

As Stella described Rachel's experience, her mother's expression shifted. Guilt and hesitation flickered across her face, but the front door opened before she could say anything, and Stella's father walked in.

"Evening, ladies. How are you doing this fine day?" he greeted them, his tone light.

Stella's mother turned to him with a practiced smile. "I'm fine, honey, how was your day?"

"Slow. The boss decided to close the store early since he's going on a trip."

"Well, that's good news," she responded as he put his things down and helped set the table.

Stella's father asked at dinner, "What about you, Stella? How was your day?"

Now more composed, Stella answered, "It was short, just like yours. It's the first day of school, so I didn't do much."

There was a pause at the table. Her parents exchanged a glance, setting their utensils down in unison. Her father then turned to her, his gaze intense.

"Stella, tell me the truth," he said, suddenly stern.

Stella's heart raced, but she held her ground. "I told you I went to school and came back—the same thing I do every day since you let me go out alone."

"Stella!" her father's voice thundered, and with it, a force swept through the room, pushing the silverware off the table and pressing down on her. "I'll ask you one more time. What did you do today?"

Stella met her father's eyes, her determination unwavering. "Nothing. I went to school and came back."

The pressure on her increased, the legs of the chair showing visible cracks, the wood beneath her creaking under the strain.

"Shaka," her mother cried out, her voice breaking. "Don't blame her, blame me. You've told me for years to tell her, and I didn't. Don't carry this burden alone, it's mine too."

Shaka, his face set in a grim expression, replied, "Nyasha, we've tried to protect her, to make her understand that this is for her own good. But now… she doesn't even realize what she's done."

Fueled by a surge of defiance, Stella fought against the invisible force. "For my own good? Then tell me! Tell me why you've kept me locked up my entire life!"

Her father hesitated, his fierce demeanor faltering. Stella seized the moment.

"What is home like? Why do I have white hair? And how were you able to move things without touching them?"

Shaka's expression darkened, and Stella's strength gave out with a mere glance. She collapsed, her body gently lowering to the floor as if cradled by the air itself.

"Shaka, was that really necessary?" Nyasha asked, her voice trembling.

Shaka's tone was resolute. "She had four different auras on her today. She went from never being exposed to that world to encountering four members in just a few hours. It was necessary."

Nyasha's face softened with worry. "She'll wake up eventually. What do we do then?"

Shaka looked at her with a solemn gaze. "You've stopped me from telling her all these years. Now, it's your turn. You must tell her. I'll clean up this mess."

With a wave of his hand, the broken plates and scattered silverware lifted into the air, moving under his command.

Nyasha gently lifted Stella in her arms, carrying her upstairs. She tucked her daughter into bed, then sat beside her, stroking her white hair.

"This hair," she whispered, her voice filled with sorrow. "We've had to do this because of this hair. When you wake, my sweet girl, I'll tell you everything—the danger you face and why we've done what we've done. But for now, rest. It may be your last peaceful sleep for a long time."