I used to live with my father and sister in a small house, where darkness settled in the corners just as it did in my heart. My father wasn’t a father in the true sense—he was a monster who devoured my childhood day by day, torturing me sometimes with silence, and other times with cruelty. I didn’t cry; I simply stayed quiet… and counted the days.

When he died, I felt relief, though I never showed it. Life took me to my mother’s family home. I thought it would be a refuge, but it was even darker. My mother and my sister Roma chased after attention and followed the lights. I was nothing like them. I felt like a stranger—among them, and within myself.

Then came Jackson, my cousin. He was different. Kind, patient… he made me feel safe. He became the father I never had, the brother I longed for, the embrace I missed. As the years passed, I grew… and so did his closeness to me.

But then… he changed. His gaze became strange. His words hinted at things I didn’t want to understand—or maybe I did, but refused to.

That day, I was exhausted. Fever burned through me, and my vision blurred like I was sinking into thick water. The house was full of guests: my mother, aunt, their daughters, my sister Roma… and Jackson.

The noise pierced my head like needles. I couldn’t take it. Quietly, I slipped away to a far-off room, unnoticed.

It was cold and still—unlike the chaos in my mind. I sat on an old couch, pulled a light blanket over my trembling body, and closed my eyes.

I couldn’t fight it… I drifted to sleep.

I don’t know how much time passed, but the sound of the door creaking open stirred something in me. I didn’t move, pretended to sleep. I heard soft footsteps… then silence.

"Where did you disappear to?" he whispered, voice low and familiar.

It was Jackson.

He saw my pale face and small body curled under the blanket. He stepped closer, leaned in, and reached out to touch my forehead.

"You’re burning up… why didn’t you tell me?"