Chapter 1: Storms That Never Break

Three years of walking on eggshells, and Tyler’s moods still hang over the house like a thunderstorm that never breaks.

Every time I walk past his door, my stomach knots up, like I’m tiptoeing through a minefield—always bracing for a slammed door, or worse, that glacial silence. I’m just so tired of watching the clouds hang over him—year after year—and never being able to do a damn thing about it. Some days, it feels like even my bones are tired. Like I’m fading right along with him.

He won’t talk to me. Won’t let me near. It’s like there’s a moat around him—icy, deep, impossible to cross. Even our dog Scout gets closer than I do before Tyler shuts down and turns on the frost.

Even the gifts I bring—he just tears them up and tosses them in the trash.

Last Christmas, I splurged on imported brush pens—the kind you only see in fancy art stores. He opened the box, looked at me, then shredded the wrappers right in front of me. The sound of tearing paper was sharp, final. I could still smell the ink, still see the crushed box in the trash hours later. It was like he was tearing up my hope, too.

But when the main girl shows up, he blushes, ducks his head, and shyly hands over the sketches he’s worked so hard on.

With her, he’s suddenly this softer, almost bashful version of himself. His hands shake a little as he slides his artwork across the table, eyes glued to the floor, waiting for her reaction like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

Finally, I give up.

I perch at the edge of my bed, staring at the scuffed hardwood. My hands are empty. I can’t do this anymore. I’m just… done.

I go talk things over with the main girl.

I find her out on the porch swing, sunlight splashing through the maple trees. I lay it all out—my voice is raw, barely above a whisper. "I can’t reach him. Maybe you can."

I’m getting ready to move abroad. There’s a half-packed suitcase in my room, passport wedged between travel guides and a pile of crumpled receipts—my ticket out, maybe, if I can actually be brave enough.

Could I leave Tyler in your family’s care?

The words hang between us in the humid air, tasting strange and heavy—like letting go is the last thing I can do for him.