The nurse hesitated before speaking.
Her voice trembled like it might break if she said it too loud.
"…She's gone."
The words echoed through his skull — soft, but merciless.
Something inside him twisted.
Gone?
No. That wasn't right. He just spoke to her. Just sat beside her bed.
The world tilted, but only for him.
"Do you… need to call someone?" she asked, her tone careful.
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
Her lips were still moving, but her voice was already fading — drowned by the hum of her words in his head.
Everything sounded far away.
His feet moved on their own.
Each step felt heavier. Like the world didn't care he'd just lost someone he loved.
"Did she ever… did she ever love me?"
Out the doors. Past the corridor, into the cold again.
It was like the city had no idea what just happened.
Cars honked.
Streetlights flickered.
People laughed, talked, argued.
The world moved forward.
And he was stuck.
He stared at the ring. It shimmered faintly in the low light— just a glint, a flicker thin as dust.
No one else seemed to notice.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, head low, walking through a sea of strangers.
They brushed past him like wind.
He crossed the road without looking.
A horn blared.
A car swerved.
"Watch where you're going, idiot!"
He didn't even flinch.
The driver's voice was gone before it reached him.
Home smelled like dust and silence.
He shut the door behind him — soft, deliberate.
Shoes off. Bag dropped.
No greeting. No warmth.
The gift box still sat open on the table.
He brushed past it and went to his room.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Then the sound of keys.
The door opened again.
His father.
"Hey… Happy birthday, kiddo," the man said.
No reply.
"You got the ring, right?"
Silence.
"Something wrong? You look—"
"Mom's… gone."
"Yeah I know she went for her—"
"She's dead."
The man froze.
For a moment, he looked like a statue.
"That's not funny," he said. "She's having her surgery tod—"
"She's dead!" Damon snapped.
The words ripped through the air like glass shattering.
His father's breath caught.
Then his knees hit the floor.
He stared blankly ahead.
Nothing came out — no words, no tears.
He stood, quietly, and walked upstairs.
The boy followed with his eyes.
The only sound left was the creak of the steps, then the bedroom door closing.
That night, the house felt colder than usual.
The table downstairs still empty.
The hum of the fridge filled the silence like static.
Shatter. Thud. Slam.
He went to see the cause of these noises.
Staring through a gap in the door.
Lamp-cracked. "files everywhere, a mess-just like everything else"
His dad yelled. Crash went his mothers vase.
He showered. Brushed his teeth.
Didn't eat. Didn't sleep.
The next morning came and went.
His father stood by the door, tie loose, eyes hollow.
"You should go to school," he said quietly. "It's what she'd want."
He almost laughed — bitterly.
She wouldn't have wanted me at all, he thought.
But he just nodded and left.
The world was busy. Again.
Wind gentle. Sky grey.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, one strap of his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder.
Uniform untucked, tie crooked.
He looked good — but empty.
In class, voices blurred.
Teacher talked. Pens scratched.
He didn't hear a word.
"Vale!" the teacher called. "Answer the question."
He blinked. Didn't even know what subject it was.
"Are you even listening?"
He stared at the chalkboard, then at his reflection in the window.
The ring looked normal again.
Still. Silent. Innocent.
He raised his hand.
"Can I be excused?"
The bathroom mirror reflected a ghost.
Eyes red. Not tears — exhaustion.
He sat in the stall, knees pulled in, silent.
Every second stretched — like watching a pendulum clock in slow motion.
After school, the corridors emptied.
He grabbed his bag, slipped outside, and sat beneath the red-leafed tree.
Natsuki found him there.
She stopped, hesitant.
"You didn't answer my texts," she said softly.
He didn't move. Just sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the pavement.
"What happened?"
He looked up at her slowly.
"She's gone."
Her breath hitched. "Your mom…?"
He nodded once. No tears. No break in his voice. Just… hollow.
She sat beside him. Eyes wet. Hands trembling.
When she hugged him, he didn't hug her back.
Didn't even blink.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
He waited a few seconds, then said quietly,
"I have to go home."
"Let me walk with you," she offered.
He shook his head.
"No need."
The tone was flat. Empty.
The faintest hint of something darker beneath it.
He opened the door to see his father at the table — tie off, arm wrapped in a bandage.
Empty bottles lined the counter.
His father looked up slowly.
"This is your fault," he murmured.
Damon froze.
"What?"
"Fetal microchimerism," his father said quietly.
He knew what he meant, it made it worse.
"Her body… turned against her because of you."
The words hit harder than the blow that followed.
Didn't hit back. Didn't even speak. Just stared at the floor — the sting burning colder than pain
Silence.
The room tilted again.
"YOU. KILLED. HER" -each word, beating followed.
And then, only the shimmer — soft, blue — from the ring on his hand.
He walked upstairs, face expressionless,
closed the door,
and sat in darkness.
The ring's light pulsed faintly against the wall. Once. Twice. Then stilled.
He thought of how he hated the slap.
The rings light flared.
Blue. White. Then—
"What the fu—"