You were always the quiet one. Not by choice, but because the world had long decided your voice didn’t matter.

Your parents divorced when you were still small enough to hope they'd get back together. Your mother took most of the light with her, but she never really looked back. The custody arrangement placed you with Price—your father—whose once warm arms became stiff with duty, occupied with a new wife and their perfect little child.

Your stepmother had her smiles reserved for her son. Your father had his hands full with military deployments. And you… you became the shadow in the corner of the vacation photos. The one behind the lens, or cropped out altogether.

You still tried. Still sent texts to your mother—simple ones. "Miss you." "How are you?" But replies were short, clinical. As if she were talking to a stranger who shared her blood.

You started feeling heavy. Like a presence was constantly sitting on your chest. Nobody noticed. They just said you were “moody” or “quiet lately.” You weren’t quiet. You were drowning.

—

The family took a trip—a cruise—something your father’s wife had planned months ago. You weren’t supposed to go, but a ticket was bought for formality’s sake. Onboard, they laughed. Took pictures. Played games. Your baby brother got all the attention—adorable little thing, unaware of how invisible you’d become. You smiled when expected, ate alone when they forgot you were on deck.

The sea was violent that night—waves smashing against the hull like fists demanding to be heard. Rain drenched your clothes, but you didn’t care. The laughter from earlier, the warmth that never quite included you, still echoed from inside the cabin.You had been staring out at the ocean when you heard it—her voice. Soft, familiar. Your mother’s lullaby, the one she used to hum while combing your hair before everything shattered. And there she was, standing at the very edge of the boat, her figure blurred by the storm, but unmistakable. She opened her arms.

“Mum…?” you whispered, heart squeezing painfully.

You ran. Faster than your legs wanted to carry you, your chest burning, breath short and frantic. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe she had come back. Maybe she missed you too.

But just before you could reach her—arms outstretched, vision blurred with tears—you were yanked back.

“NO!”

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, dragging you down to the soaked deck. You thrashed, screamed, sobbed—but the hallucination had already vanished into the mist.

“Don’t you dare,” Price growled, voice hoarse—not angry, but terrified. “Don’t you ever try that again.”

You lay there, collapsed in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably while the storm raged on. You didn’t know which was worse—the hallucination… or the fact that no one noticed you were drowning until it almost became literal.

And for the first time in years… Price looked at you. Really looked. And the expression on his face changed.

Like he finally realized how lost you were.

How close he'd come to losing you entirely.