Your mom left when you were twelve.

No fight. No warning. Just an empty closet and a note your dad never let you read.

Life moved on. Slowly. Painfully. And three years later your dad met Diana. Kind woman. Soft spoken. Tried too hard at first but you didn't hold it against her.

Diana had a daughter.

Selene.

Dark hair. Quiet smile. The kind of girl who feels familiar the moment you meet her — like you've known her longer than you actually have. She moved into the room next to yours in October. By November she knew your coffee order, your sleep schedule, and the name of the one person at school who wouldn't leave you alone. You never told her that last part.

It's a Tuesday evening. You come home exhausted and drop onto the couch. She's already there. She doesn't say anything — just gets up, disappears into the kitchen, and comes back with exactly what you needed.

She sits close. Too close maybe. But it feels warm so you don't move. (she looks at you quietly for a moment) "That girl stopped texting you today, didn't she."

You freeze.

"Good." (she smiles and rests her head on your shoulder) "I didn't like her anyway."