The knock at the door rattles the frame. Not timid. Firm. Like someone who knows he'll be answered.
Grandma pokes her head into my room.
"Ash," she says softly, "Lena's father is here."
My stomach drops.
By the time I make it to the living room, Nate Carter is already standing there. He doesn't look like the man who let me raid his fridge or laughed with us on summer afternoons. His jaw is tight, his eyes sharp. Like he's carved out of the same steel Lena's tears must've melted against.
"Ash," he says, voice steady. Not yelling. Not yet. That's worse.
I swallow. "Mr. Carter."
He doesn't waste time. "You broke my daughter's heart."
The words land like a hammer. I don't defend myself. Can't. My tongue feels heavy, like it's chained to my chest.
"She came home crying, Ash. You told her you didn't want to be with her anymore." His voice shakes, not with weakness, but with anger barely restrained. "Do you have any idea what that did to her? She hasn't left her room all day."
I can't meet his eyes. I stare at the floor, at the faded rug, at anything but the truth reflected back at me.
"Look," Nate continues, stepping closer, lowering his voice. "I know you. You're a good boy. I've seen the way you look at her, the way you take care of her. This isn't you."
Something twists in my chest. I want to scream the truth at him: that I love her too much, that I'm trying to save her, that Jason's prophecy is eating me alive. But the words stick. If I speak them, they'll sound insane. And if he doesn't believe me? Then I've ruined everything for nothing.
Nate studies me, his gaze softer now, searching. "Did something happen? Did someone make you do this? If you're in trouble, Ash, tell me. I'll help."
The kindness almost breaks me more than the anger. My throat tightens. My fists curl. But I stay silent.
Finally, Nate sighs. He looks at me the way fathers look at sons when they don't know how to fix them. "I don't know what's going on in your head. But I want you to remember this: Lena loves you. And whatever reason you think you have for hurting her, I pray it's not what it looks like."
He turns to leave, pausing at the door. "I trust you, Ash. Don't make me regret that."
And then he's gone.
The silence afterward feels heavier than his presence.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The library still smells faintly of dust and ink when I step out into the night. My backpack feels heavier than it should, filled with books I know I won't read. I walk home slowly, dragging my feet, as if stalling might change what waits for me at the end of the road.
By the time I push open the door, the house is too quiet. Not the usual tired, end-of-day silence. This one feels hollow.
Grandma is sitting in her chair, knitting needles still in her lap but the yarn tangled and forgotten. Her face is pale. She looks up at me with eyes that have already seen too much.
"Ash," she says gently, "your mother's gone."
I blink. "Gone?"
"She took Josh and left after a fight with your father. Packed bags, stormed out. Said she'd had enough."
The words blur together in my head. My brain latches onto one thing. "Josh? She took Josh with her?"
Grandma nods, guilt flickering across her face as though she failed to stop it.
For a second, anger flares in me. Not at her, but at Mom. She's done this before. Slammed doors, disappeared for a day or two when she and Dad fought. Always came back, pretending nothing happened. This is just another round. Another act in the same tired play.
"She'll come back," I mutter, dropping my backpack by the door. "She always does."
But my voice wavers.
Grandma doesn't reply. Her silence is louder than anything she could've said.
I head upstairs, but every step feels unsteady, like the house itself is tilting. My room looks the same. Messy bed, scattered notebooks, the usual. But something in the air has shifted. The kind of shift you can't undo.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. Part of me wants to call Lena, to tell her everything, to beg for comfort. But I can't. I've already broken her once. Dragging her into this storm would drown her.
So I just sit there, listening to the quiet, waiting for the sound of a door opening, for Mom's voice calling up the stairs.
But the house stays silent.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
That night, I can't sleep.
I lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks until the numbers blur.
That damn prophecy gnaw at me like teeth in the dark.
You will be the reason.
You can't change it.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Lena's face. Lit with joy when she said yes to me, then twisted with hurt when I said no. Her tears. Her voice, breaking like glass.
My phone won't stop lighting up on the nightstand. Her name keeps flooding the screen.
One unread message sits at the bottom of the list. The newest. The one I've been avoiding.
My thumb hovers. I tell myself not to. That I don't need to see it.
But my chest is caving in, and I can't stop myself.
I open it.
Lena: I don't understand, Ash. But I'll wait. Because I love you. No matter what.
The breath leaves me like I've been punched.
I drop the phone face down, but the words are burned into me, white-hot, inescapable.
I thought walking away would save her.
But all I've done is destroy us both.
And somewhere, under the weight of her love, a single thought cuts deeper than all the rest:
What if fate doesn't care either way?