Y/N was nine years old when she learned that silence could scream.
The car moved too fast through the empty road, headlights cutting through the dark like knives. Rain hadn't started yet, but the air felt heavy—like the night was holding its breath.
She sat in the back seat, legs dangling, humming softly to herself.
Her father hadn't spoken a single word since they left the house.
His phone rang.
He answered immediately.
"You should've stayed dead," her father said quietly.
Y/N stopped humming.
The man on the other side laughed.
A slow, mocking sound that made her skin crawl even though she couldn't hear it directly.
"You always were dramatic, brother," the man said. "I'm just checking on my favorite niece."
Her father's hand tightened around the steering wheel.
"Don't say her name," he snapped.
Y/N leaned forward. "Papa… who is it?"
He glanced at her in the mirror. His face softened for half a second—then hardened again.
"No one important," he said.
The laugh returned. Louder this time.
"She still doesn't know, does she?" the man asked. "After all these years."
Her father's voice shook with rage. "You swore you'd stay away."
"I did," the man replied calmly. "Until you forgot who really owns your fear."
Y/N frowned. "Papa, why are you angry?"
He swallowed. "Go back to humming, sweetheart."
She didn't.
"You took everything from me," her father hissed into the phone. "My wife. My peace. You won't touch my child."
The laughter stopped.
"That's where you're wrong," the man said softly. "She was always mine."
Y/N's stomach twisted.
"What does he mean?" she whispered.
Her father slammed the brakes slightly, breath uneven. "Enough. I won't kneel to you."
"You never did," the man said.
"That's why she had to see it."
The words sliced through the air.
Y/N felt a strange pressure in her head. A sharp ache behind her right temple.
Images flickered—red. A woman's scream. Cold floor.
She gasped. "Papa… my head hurts."
His heart dropped.
"Don't," he whispered into the phone. "Don't you dare drag her back there."
"Oh, I don't need to," the man replied. "Her brain does that on its own."
Her father's eyes burned with tears.
"She was four. You're a monster."
"I'm family," the man corrected. "And family always leaves scars."
The road ahead narrowed. A truck horn echoed faintly in the distance.
"You think lying to her saved her?" the man continued. "Telling her her mother ran away? That she chose someone else?"
Y/N looked up sharply. "Mama… ran away?"
Her father's voice cracked. "Stop."
"She saw her die," the man said lightly. "And you still think you won."
Her father shouted, "You will not touch her again!"
The man sighed, almost bored.
"You're shaking," he said. "Just like that night."
The headache worsened.
Y/N pressed her hand to her temple, breathing fast.
"Papa… I don't feel good."
"Close your eyes," he begged.
"Please."
The man chuckled one last time.
"She's still your weakness," he said. "And weakness deserves consequences."
Headlights suddenly blinded them—
A massive truck swerved into their lane.
"NO—!" her father shouted, jerking the wheel.
Metal screamed.
Glass exploded.
Y/N felt herself lifted—then everything shattered.
Pain. Noise. Darkness.
The last thing she heard—
Not her father's voice.
But a laugh
echoing in her mind.
And when she woke later, she would remember none of the truth.
Only fear.
And a name that was never spoken...