For weeks, Jayden carried the comfort of Tasha's poems with him.
He'd read them in secret, the messy handwriting curling across the lines, and each word made him feel less alone.
But the closer they grew, the heavier something inside him felt — like the more he let her in, the more dangerous it became.
He'd lost enough people to know the pattern: first they cared, then they left.
Why should she be any different?
---
The Fracture
It happened on a Wednesday, in the art room after school.
Tasha had been talking — excited, alive — about a poetry contest she wanted to enter.
"You should enter too," she said, eyes bright. "There's an art category. You'd kill it."
Jayden shook his head. "Nah."
"Why not?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Of course it does. You're good, Jay."
The nickname startled him. Nobody called him that.
But instead of warming him, it made him bristle.
"You don't know me like that," he said sharply.
Tasha blinked, caught off guard. "What? I'm just saying you've got talent."
"People always say that. Then they forget."
Her face softened. "I'm not people."
Jayden felt the heat rise in his chest, that familiar storm building.
"Yeah, you are. Everybody leaves. You will too."
The silence after those words was heavier than any shout.
Tasha stared at him, hurt flickering in her eyes.
"I'm not your mom, Jayden," she said quietly. "I'm not here to disappear."
He didn't know how to answer.
So he didn't.
She packed her things, her movements sharp, and walked out.
For the first time in weeks, the art room felt empty again.
---
The Weight
Back at the group home, Jayden couldn't shake the argument.
The walls felt tighter. The other boys louder.
Terrence kept snickering with his friends, throwing glances Jayden's way, but Jayden didn't bite.
Instead, he sat in his room, staring at the sketchbook.
He wanted to draw her — the way her eyes flashed when she was angry, the way her voice cracked when she said she wouldn't leave.
But every time his pencil touched paper, his hand froze.
Ms. Delaney knocked on his door later that night.
"You've been quiet," she said softly.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
He didn't reply.
She leaned on the doorframe, studying him.
"You know, Jayden, sometimes when we're scared of losing something, we push it away first. Feels safer that way. But it's not."
Her words stung, because they were true.
But he wasn't ready to admit it — not to her, not to Tasha, not even to himself.
---
The Echo
The next day at school, he saw Tasha in the hallway.
She glanced at him but didn't stop.
Didn't smile.
Didn't say a word.
It felt like a punch harder than any fight he'd ever been in.
For the first time since leaving Westbridge, Jayden wondered if maybe he really was unfixable.