The house did not feel safer.
It only felt… wrong.
Rayan sat on the edge of the bed in the smaller room, hands resting on his knees, back straight like a stranger afraid of touching anything. The mattress smelled old—sweat, alcohol, something sour that clung to the air no matter how much the window stayed open.
He stared at the wall.
Cracked. Yellowed. A place where time had given up.
His head throbbed.
Not pain—pressure. Like thoughts pushing against locked doors.
He didn't remember coming here.
He didn't remember why his chest felt tight every time he heard a sound from the other room.
Footsteps.
Soft. Careful.
A child.
His fingers curled slowly.
Why… does that sound hurt?
Mira didn't sleep.
She sat on the floor beside the bed, her back against it, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around Isha. The child's small breaths fluttered against her neck.
Every breath was counted.
Every second without shouting felt unreal.
Rayan hadn't touched them.
Hadn't looked at them.
Hadn't even asked for food.
That terrified her more than the violence.
Because monsters don't stop.
They pause.
Her eyes burned, fixed on the door like it might explode open at any moment.
Three years.
Three years of broken plates, slurred threats, apologies that smelled like alcohol. Three years of teaching herself how to stand between a man and a child without making it worse.
Her hand trembled.
If this is another trick…
Her gaze dropped to Isha.
Tiny fingers clutching her shirt. A faint bruise on the child's arm—already fading, already unforgivable.
Mira swallowed hard.
I can't die.
The thought came suddenly, sharp and cold.
Not because she wanted to live.
Because Isha needed someone who would.
Morning came quietly.
Too quietly.
Rayan stood in the kitchen, staring at the sink.
Empty bottles were gone.
He didn't remember throwing them away.
The floor was clean.
The smell—still there, faint, but weaker.
He poured hot water into a cracked mug. His hands shook as he lifted it, steam brushing his face.
The instinct was wrong.
Something inside him screamed for something else.
Something burning.
His jaw tightened.
"No," he whispered, the word leaving his mouth before he understood why.
He drank.
The heat scorched his tongue.
His stomach turned violently.
He bent over the sink, gagging, eyes watering, vision blurring.
Images flashed—too fast to see clearly.
A raised hand.
A cry.
A face twisted in fear.
He slammed his fist against the counter.
"Stop," he muttered, to himself, to the room, to whatever was clawing at his skull.
From the doorway, Mira watched.
She didn't step closer.
Didn't speak.
Didn't trust.
Rayan straightened slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt her presence before he saw her.
His body froze.
The air between them was thick, suffocating.
"I…" His voice came out rough, unfamiliar. He cleared his throat. Tried again—slower. Careful.
"I'll… sleep in the other room."
Mira said nothing.
Her eyes searched his face like she was looking for cracks in a wall before it collapsed.
Rayan nodded once, as if accepting a verdict he didn't remember earning, and turned away.
As he passed, something small brushed against his leg.
He looked down.
Isha.
She was standing there, half-hidden behind Mira's leg, wide dark eyes staring up at him. Not crying.
Just… watching.
Rayan's breath caught.
His chest clenched so hard he thought he might fall.
Why does it feel like I've already lost you?
He took a step back.
"I won't… hurt you," he said quietly.
The words landed wrong.
Isha flinched.
Mira's arm tightened around her instantly.
That was the moment Rayan understood.
Whatever he was now—
he was already too late.
That night, the craving returned.
Stronger.
His hands trembled. Sweat soaked his shirt. His head rang like something was pounding from the inside.
He poured hot water again.
Again.
Again.
Each time felt like fighting something that knew him better than he knew himself.
Then—
A sound.
A soft whimper.
From the other room.
Rayan's body moved before his mind could stop it.
He stood in front of their door.
His hand hovered inches from the handle.
Inside, Mira was crying silently, her face buried in the pillow so Isha wouldn't hear.
"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, voice breaking. "I'm so tired…"
Rayan heard it.
Every word.
Something shattered inside his chest.
His hand trembled harder.
If I open this door…
The handle turned.
And at that exact moment—
Isha's small voice cut through the darkness.
"Ma… don't go."
Rayan froze.
The door half-open.
Mira looked up—
And their eyes met.
Her face went white.
Rayan's head split with pain, memories slamming into locked doors, something screaming to be remembered—
And the bottle-shaped shadow inside him laughed.