Sunday morning felt… unsettled.
Sunlight washed over the apartment in soft gold, but Raylene's energy was jittery — buzzing, pacing, checking her phone every few seconds like she was waiting for a message that refused to arrive.
She walked her third lap around the living room.
Then her fourth.
Then her fifth.
Zenith's eyes tracked her like a security camera as he sipped his tea.
On her seventeenth lap, he lowered the cup.
"Raylene," he said calmly, "you have walked the same circle seventeen times."
Raylene froze, eyes narrowing.
"Stop counting me."
"I'm not counting you," he corrected. "I'm counting the—"
"Zen."Her voice was a warning.
He shut his mouth.
Light, curled up on the couch drawing, peeked over the edge of his sketchbook.He didn't comment — but he didn't have to.His expression said: she's stressed, Dad—just don't.
Raylene paced again.
Eighteen.
Zenith flinched when she spun abruptly toward the mirror, checking her hair for the seventh time.
"…Do I look okay?" she asked.
Zenith blinked."You look like Raylene."
She groaned."Zenith."
He recalculated."You look… soft."
"Soft?" she repeated. "Am I supposed to look soft? That sounds like I'm a pastry."
Light snorted into his sleeve.
Raylene ignored them both and typed something nervously into her phone.
Zenith watched her thumbs fly across the screen.
He watched her inhale.Exhale.Pace again.
She was anxious — but not about herself.Her whole energy felt like she was preparing to emotionally armor up.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Raylene grabbed her purse.
"I'm heading out," she said, slipping her shoes on. "I'll be back tonight."
Zenith instantly straightened.
"…Tonight?"His tone tightened."Raylene, are you leaving for an extended period of—"
"I'm going to Sienna's," she cut in. "She needs us. The girls and I are going over."
Zenith blinked slowly.
"…Girls?"
Light sighed.He had already seen the group photos on Raylene's phone — the glamorous trio towering over her like sparkly older sisters.
Raylene stuffed her phone in her purse, but as she reached for the door she paused… leaned in close… and whispered quietly in Zenith's ear:
"…girl talk. Boy problems."
Light's face turned red.
Zenith's internal systems collapsed.
Boy problems?Raylene?Raylene with boy problems?
Zenith's thought process completely flatlined.
She straightened herself, oblivious.
"Don't worry about it," she added casually.
Zenith's voice came out faint, brittle:
"…concern me?"
"No."She waved her hand dismissively."Not directly."
Zenith.exe crashed.
Light placed his drawing aside and whispered to himself:
"…here we go."
Raylene blew them both a little kiss, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.
The door shut behind her.
Zenith remained staring at the door like it had just delivered a personal threat to his existence.
Light tugged on his sleeve.
"…Dad," he said gently."She's not talking about you."
Zenith did not move.
He just whispered:
"…boy problems."
Light nodded sympathetically.
"…Yeah. But not yours."
Zenith blinked once.Very slowly.
Processing…Processing…Failure.
---
For the first three minutes after Raylene left, Zenith stood perfectly still.
Not moving.Not breathing.Not processing.
Just a tall, silent monument to catastrophic overthinking.
Then—
He snapped.
Like a switch.
And the spiraling began.
He marched into the kitchen with the grim determination of a soldier preparing for war.
He grabbed a plate.
Scrubbed it.
Scrubbed it again.
Scrubbed it so hard Light quietly slid off the couch to save the remaining dishes from being "cleaned into dust."
Zenith muttered under his breath:
"Boy problems… with whom… what variable… what catalyst—"
He dried the plate.
Put it down.
Picked it back up.
Dried it again.
Light whispered:
"…Dad, the plate is already dry."
Zenith didn't hear him.
He had entered Stage 2.
---
Zenith marched straight into Light's art corner.
He picked up Light's colored pencils.
Then — like some sort of organized menace — began arranging them across the table by wavelength.
Light watched in horror.
"…Dad. Please don't arrange my pencils by the electromagnetic spectrum."
Zenith didn't stop.
"It's more efficient this way."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"Dad, I literally cannot draw if the yellows are next to the greens."
Zenith froze mid-pencil-placement.
Briefly reconsidered.
Then continued anyway.
Light facepalmed quietly.
---
Zenith sat at his desk.
Opened his laptop.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
Rebooted it.
Stared at the black screen like it held the answers to Raylene's entire emotional profile.
Light, from the couch, wearing the expression of someone whose parent is having a mid-life crisis:
"…Dad. Why are you rebooting your laptop?"
Zenith whispered:
"I am rebooting myself."
---
He opened the refrigerator.
Stood there.
Motionless.
Cold light spilling over his face like a tragic cinematic moment.
He stared so intensely at a single container of leftover soup that Light began genuinely worrying the soup would develop consciousness under pressure.
"…Dad?" Light called.
Zenith didn't look up.
His voice was a hollow whisper:
"Am I insufficient?"
Light blinked.
"…what?"
"Is she unhappy?"
"Dad—"
"When did this start?"
Light put his sketchbook down slowly.
Zenith continued:
"Does she need comfort from someone else? What am I not providing? Has my emotional framework been flawed from the beginning?"
Light stood up.
Walked over.
Gently closed the fridge door with both hands.
"…Dad."
Zenith looked down at him.
"Yes?"
Light inhaled slowly like a tiny therapist preparing a gentle intervention.
"Mom literally said it doesn't concern you."
Zenith countered immediately, voice sharp with logic:
"That is what people say when it does concern someone."
Light squinted.
"…Dad."
Zenith blinked.
"…yes?"
Light sighed, long and patient.
"…don't overthink."
Zenith stared at him.
Then said, with absolute sincerity:
"Light. That is the only thing I do."
Light pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose.
"…I know."
---
Sienna's apartment was dark except for the warm glow of a single lamp and the soft flicker of a scented candle that smelled like vanilla and heartbreak.
Sienna sat on the couch in the oversized, black sweater she always wore on bad days — eyes red, cheeks blotchy, spoon trembling in a pint of melting ice cream.
She had cried so long the tears didn't even fall anymore.
They just… sat there.
In her eyes.
Threatening.
Raylene dropped her purse the moment she stepped in.
She didn't say anything.
She just crossed the room and wrapped Sienna in a tight hug.
Sienna broke instantly.
"I—I thought we were fine," she whispered into Raylene's shoulder."I thought everything was perfect."
Raylene stroked her back softly."I know you did. Anyone would've thought that."
Sienna's voice cracked."I kept it together for Jun this morning… but after he left I just—"
She dissolved again.
Raylene held her through every tremble.
Until—
The front door opened with calm precision.
The controlled push of a woman who knew she didn't need theatrics to dominate a room.
Talia stepped inside.
Her coat was still half on, rain-kissed at the shoulders.Underneath, a deep emerald dress hugged her figure — elegant, sharp, absolutely not meant for comforting a crying friend at noon, yet somehow fitting her perfectly.
Her makeup was slightly smudged.Her hair was mussed in a very suspicious way.
She didn't hide it.She didn't explain it.
She simply slipped off her heels with a soft sigh and closed the door behind her.
Sienna sniffled into her ice cream.
Raylene blinked up at her."Talia…"
Talia raised an eyebrow, gaze sliding across the room in one smooth sweep —taking in Sienna's swollen eyes, the ice cream, the tissues, the blanket.
She exhaled, long and slow.
Then, without breaking eye contact, she shrugged off her coat and draped it neatly over the nearest chair.
Raylene's eyes flicked to the dress."…you came straight here?"
Talia didn't answer — but her expression said everything.
Sienna whispered weakly, voice cracking:
"…Guy Number Three's place?"
Talia's lips curved just slightly.Not confirmation.Not denial.
Just that quiet, smug almost-smile she did when caught doing something she had no intention of being ashamed of.
She rotated her wrist elegantly, setting her phone and keys down.
"It doesn't matter where I was," she said, voice smooth, low, a little dangerous."I'm here now."
She walked over to the couch with the lazy confidence of someone who had never once run to anything in her life — only strolled.
She lowered herself onto the armrest beside Sienna, elbows on her knees, eyes sharp and observant.
Then she asked, calm as a loaded weapon:
"Tell me what he did."
That was when Sienna finally broke into tears again.
Raylene gently pulled her into her arms, and Talia watched with that cool, assessing expression — protective, controlled, ready.
Not loud.Not explosive.
But the kind of friend you absolutely want when someone hurts you.
---
Mara arrived a few minutes later.
The door opened more gently this time, but the second she stepped inside and saw Sienna on the couch—knees drawn up, eyes red, ice cream forgotten in her hands—her whole expression crumpled.
Red knit sweater.Soft perfume.Engagement ring catching the lamplight when she lifted a hand to her mouth.
"Oh, honey…" she breathed.
She didn't bother taking off her shoes first. She crossed the room in a few quick steps and folded down onto the couch beside Sienna, arms opening automatically.
Sienna leaned into her and Mara wrapped her up, holding her so tightly it was like she thought she could physically keep her from falling apart.
Sienna's voice came out small, frayed."He cheated."
Mara went very still.
Her arms tightened around Sienna like a vise.
"He what," she whispered, disbelief and fury layered together.
Raylene shifted back just enough to let Mara take over the front-line hugging, but she kept one hand resting on Sienna's arm, steady and warm.
Mara stroked Sienna's hair, her own voice cracking.
"You had the perfect marriage," she whispered. "You two were solid, you worked… if this can happen to you then—"
Her voice shook; she swallowed hard.
"—what hope is there for the rest of us?"
From the other end of the couch, Talia reached over, offering Mara a tissue with a dry little sigh.
"I love you," Talia said, "but maybe don't trauma-dump on the one whose life just exploded."
Mara sniffed loudly, dabbing at her eyes."I'm being empathetic."
"You're catastrophizing," Talia countered, but her tone was softer now.
Raylene rubbed slow circles over Sienna's shoulder.
"Sienna," she murmured, "you didn't deserve any of this."
Sienna let out a broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and clung to both of them like they were the only solid things left in the room.
---
The wine was poured.Mara finally stopped clinging.Talia sat cross-legged on the arm of the couch, swirling her glass.Raylene held Sienna's hand gently — the anchor of the group.
Sienna wiped her eyes, voice barely above a whisper.
"It happened last night."
Raylene nodded softly."Start wherever you need to."
Sienna took a shaky breath.
"Yesterday was… normal," she whispered."Painfully normal."
She twisted a tissue in her fingers.
"Jun and I were home all day. We made belgian waffles, his favorite, played a board game, watched a movie… it was a good day."
A faint smile. A soft heartbreak.
"He drew a dragon with rainbow wings."Her voice cracked again."He asked if I could show Jared when he got home."
Talia's jaw tightened.Mara already had tears in her eyes.Raylene stroked her arm gently.
Sienna continued:
"Jared said he had a freelance assignment. Editing or filming or something—I didn't ask. I trust him."Her voice wavered painfully."…I trusted him."
She stared down at her melted ice cream.
"He came home late. Really late. I thought nothing of it."She swallowed."But… he was off. Distracted. Nervous. He kissed my cheek without looking at me. He didn't ask about our day. He didn't ask about Jun."
Talia muttered under her breath,"Guilty behavior 101."
Sienna wiped her eyes again.
"He went straight to the shower, and I… I sat on the couch. I wasn't suspicious. I wasn't looking for anything."
Her voice broke.
"His phone buzzed."
Raylene froze.
Mara let out a tiny gasp.
Sienna shook her head quickly."I didn't snoop. I didn't touch it. It was just… there. On the table. Face up. And the message popped up."
Talia leaned in sharply."What did it say?"
The room fell silent.
Sienna whispered:
"'Tonight was perfect. Same time tomorrow?'"
Raylene covered her mouth.Mara's eyes overflowed instantly.Talia's expression turned murderous.
Sienna's hands shook as she spoke.
"I just stared at it. Like it wasn't real. Like maybe it was a joke or— or a scam text or—"She choked on a sob."Then another message came."
Raylene, voice soft,"…what did it say?"
Sienna squeezed her eyes shut.
"'Your son is adorable. I've always wanted a son.'"
Raylene went still.Mara let out a sound of disbelief.Talia stood up.
"Oh absolutely NOT."Her voice was low, lethal."She dragged Jun into this? I'll bury her in concrete. Try me."
Mara sniffed hard."I'm right with you. This woman deserves a tenfold!"
Raylene cupped Sienna's cheek."You didn't deserve any of this. None of it."
Sienna shook her head, tears spilling again.
"Jun asked why Daddy didn't say goodnight. I told him Jared was tired from work. I lied to him. I never lie to him."
Raylene pulled her into another hug.
"Sienna... you did the best you could."
Talia finally sat back down, eyes blazing."We're not letting you go through this alone."
Mara nodded fiercely, wiping her face."We're here. You're not doing any of this without us."
Sienna trembled.Swallowed.Whispered:
"…thank you."
---
Back home, the atmosphere was… tense.
Not because anything was wrong.
But because Zenith was convinced something was wrong.
He paced the living room like a malfunctioning Roomba, muttering calculations under his breath.
"She is mentioning my flaws," he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose,"to older, wiser women."
He stopped, eyes widening.
"…they are evaluating me mathematically."
Light, sitting cross-legged on the couch with his sketchpad, blinked slowly.
"Dad—"
Zenith wasn't listening.
"This is a peer review," he whispered, horrified."On my relationship performance."
Light dragged a hand down his face.
"Dad. She literally said she was going to comfort her friend."
Zenith paused mid-pace.Turned.Looked at him like he had just spoken ancient prophecy.
"…probability of deception to protect my feelings: fifty-two percent."
Light stared.
"…Dad."
Zenith exhaled sharply, hands on hips, staring at the floor as if it contained answers.
"…I am the problem."
Light shook his head slowly, voice soft but brutally honest:
"Dad, the problem is that you THINK you're the problem."
Zenith turned toward him like he was witnessing a miracle.
Light sighed.
"Sit down," he said tiredly, patting the couch cushion beside him. "You're spiraling."
Zenith didn't sit.
He paced again.
"She dressed nicely," he mumbled. "Too nicely. For an emotionally distressed friend gathering. Why would she do that unless—"
"Dad."
"—she is preparing to complain about me."
"Dad."
Zenith stopped pacing, staring blankly at the bookshelf.
"…what if I am the boy problem?"
Light slowly closed his sketchpad.
"Dad," he said gently, "you don't even know what 'boy problems' means."
Zenith blinked.
"…that is correct."
Light let out a long, tiny, exhausted sigh.
"I miss Mom," he muttered under his breath.
Zenith froze.
Light corrected himself instantly:"I mean— I miss her calming energy. Not that she's gone. I just— you're a lot right now."
Zenith looked offended.Pressed a hand dramatically to his chest.
"…a lot?"
Light nodded.
"You're spiraling so hard you're causing gravitational pull."
Zenith opened his mouth to debate that.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"…does Raylene think that?"
Light stared at him.
"Dad. Please. I beg you. Sit down."
Zenith finally sat — stiff, silent, staring at the wall like it just insulted him.
And Light leaned back, patting his knee once like a tiny, exhausted pension-age therapist.
---
The apartment was dim when Raylene stepped inside.The hallway light caught in her hair as she closed the door behind her with a soft click.
She didn't speak right away.
Her shoulders dropped with exhaustion — the kind that isn't physical so much as emotional, the weight of absorbing someone else's heartbreak.
She slipped out of her shoes, toes curling against the floor.
Zenith appeared in the hallway, stiff as a statue.He'd been waiting.Obviously.
He opened his mouth—
But Raylene brushed past Zenith quietly — too drained to catch the emotional catastrophe brewing in his eyes. She moved into the living room, and the soft blue glow of the TV revealed a tiny, bundled shape on the couch.
Light was sitting there with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a half-empty mug of hot chocolate cupped between both hands.His eyelids drooped heavily.He looked one blink away from sleep.
Raylene softened instantly.
"Light…"Her voice was gentle, surprised."… you're still up?"
Light blinked at her slowly, like his brain was wading through warm syrup.
"Mm," he hummed, barely awake."The movie wasn't over."
Raylene smiled tiredly and eased herself down beside him.He leaned into her without thinking — half-asleep, warm, trusting.
She brushed a hand through his hair.
"You should be in bed," she whispered, but there was no real scolding in it.
Light only murmured,"…'m waiting for you."
Her chest ached softly.
The TV flickered across them, blue light washing over Light's flushed cheeks. The mug wobbled in his hands; Raylene gently took it from him and set it aside.
Only then did she look up.
Zenith was still in the hallway.
Standing perfectly still.Watching her.
Unreadable.Tense.Like he'd been frozen mid-motion.
Raylene met his gaze — confused, a little worried — but too tired to fully process why he looked like someone had unplugged him from the wall.
Their eyes met.
Something inside Raylene faltered.
Because earlier — when Mara's voice shook and she said:
"If this could happen to YOU… what hope is there for the rest of us?"
…it had hit Raylene in a place she wasn't prepared for.
Her and Zenith weren't like other couples.Not even close.
Zenith was brilliant, strange, obsessive, clinical.He counted her footsteps.He catalogued her routines.He talked like a machine wired to love her but programmed to analyze everything first.
Sometimes she wondered if she should be scared.But she wasn't.
She loved him with a depth she couldn't explain.Loved their odd life.Loved their son.
Still…
Today, watching Sienna collapse…
Raylene realized she couldn't remember things she should remember.
Not perfectly.Not clearly.
How she and Zenith met.How their relationship began.Parts of their early life together.
Blank spots.Soft fog.Gaps she never questioned until now.
Was she sick?Was it stress?Was it normal?
She didn't know.She didn't want to say it aloud.Not in front of Light.Not tonight.
So she forced a small smile for Zenith.
"Hey," she whispered.
Zenith didn't move.
He looked like someone had unplugged him.
Raylene's tired brow softened with concern.
She glanced at Light—
curled under his blanket, mug empty on the table, breathing slow and even —then back at Zenith.
And she gave him a look that meant clearly:
We'll talk later.
Zenith inhaled sharply.Like he had been waiting for that exact signal all night.
Raylene carefully pulled the blanket higher over Light's shoulder, brushing a thumb across his hair with the kind of gentleness only a mother has. Then she stood and walked toward Zenith.
He leaned into her proximity immediately.Too quickly.Too relieved.Too obviously spiraled.
She touched his arm lightly.
"Zen… what's wrong?"
Zenith swallowed.His eyes flicked away.He looked embarrassed in the smallest, stiffest way.
"…you said 'boy problems.'"
Raylene blinked.
Then — despite the exhaustion pulling her eyelids down — she let out a soft, warm laugh.Not mocking.Not loud.Just a gentle puff of disbelief.
"Oh, Zen…"She cupped his cheeks, brushing her thumbs under his eyes.His shoulders sagged at her touch.
"Zenith."
She leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth softly — the kind of kiss that reassures, not excites.
"It wasn't about you," she whispered against his skin."You're my man. If I had problems with you, I'd talk to you."
Zenith blinked twice.
Processing.Recalibrating.Rebooting.
Raylene's smile softened even more.
"You're not the problem, Zen. Ever."
And just like that —
His whole chest loosened.Not dramatically.Not with a gasp.Just a quiet, subtle release —a gentle untying of every knot he'd wound himself into during the last three hours.
Raylene nudged him softly with her shoulder.
"Come on," she whispered. "Help me put Light to bed?"
Zenith nodded once, almost reverently, and together they lifted their sleeping son — warm, limp, trusting — carrying him down the hallway with slow, careful steps.
And for tonight — just tonight — the strangeness in Raylene's memories, the cracks in their world,
…she let herself ignore it all.
Zenith tucked Light in.Raylene smoothed the hair from his forehead.
And behind them, in the darkened living room…
…the faintest golden shimmer flickered once behind the couch cushion —
—before fading away completely.