The footsteps stopped just inside the door.
Mira didn't breathe.
Her body was already positioned—half in front of Isha, half ready to run, half ready to endure. She hated that her body still knew how to do this without thinking.
Rayan stood there, unmoving.
The house felt smaller than ever.
"I… forgot my jacket," he said.
His voice didn't slur.Didn't rise.Didn't carry that edge she used to brace for.
Mira didn't answer.
She watched his hands instead.
Empty. Open. Hanging uselessly at his sides like he didn't trust them either.
The silence stretched until it hurt.
"I'm leaving again," he added, slower. "I just—didn't want to come back later."
Later meant drunk.Later meant worse.
Her jaw tightened.
"Take it," she said finally. "And go."
Rayan nodded immediately.
No argument.
No irritation.
That alone made her stomach twist.
He took the jacket from the chair. As he turned, his eyes flicked—just for a second—toward Isha.
The child didn't hide.
She stared at him.
Not with fear this time.
With confusion.
Rayan looked away first.
The door closed behind him.
And Mira realized her hands were shaking.
Outside, the air hit Rayan like a slap.
He leaned against the wall, breath uneven, heart hammering like he'd just stepped away from a cliff.
I didn't cross it, he thought.I didn't cross it.
The thought felt fragile. Temporary.
The craving surged again, sharp and sudden, like punishment for restraint.
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
"Not today," he muttered.
He walked. Fast. No direction. Just movement.
The city blurred past until he found himself in front of a small shop—glass fogged, sign flickering. The kind of place his body recognized instantly.
His feet stopped.
His stomach burned.
The shadow inside him stirred, amused.
One step, it whispered.You already know how this ends.
Rayan's hands curled into fists.
"No," he said aloud, earning a glance from a passerby. "I don't."
He turned away.
Each step felt like dragging a weight tied to his spine.
At home, Mira locked the door.
Then slid down against it.
Her chest shook as she pressed her forehead to her knees, soundless, exhausted.
Isha toddled over, small hands patting her arm awkwardly.
"Mama sad?" she asked.
Mira pulled her close immediately.
Too close.
"I'm okay," she lied softly. "I'm okay."
But her eyes drifted to the window.
To the street.
To the thought she hadn't let herself finish in years.
How much longer can I do this?
The answer terrified her.
Night came.
Rayan returned before dark—just like he said he would.
He placed the jacket back on the chair. Quietly. Carefully.
"I'll sleep early," he said, standing near the doorway, not entering. "I won't make noise."
Mira nodded.
She waited for something else.
An excuse.A demand.An apology.
Nothing came.
Rayan turned to leave.
Then stopped.
"I know you don't believe me," he said, still not facing her. "You shouldn't."
Her heart thudded painfully.
"But I'm trying," he added. "Even if it doesn't matter."
He left the room.
Mira stayed frozen long after.
That night, she didn't cry.
That scared her more than the tears ever did.
In the dark, Rayan lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The shadow pressed closer than before.
You can't keep this up, it whispered.She'll break. You'll break.
Rayan closed his eyes.
"I already broke," he said quietly. "That's why this ends."
Somewhere in the house, a child coughed in her sleep.
And for the first time—
The shadow hesitated.
End of Episode 4