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She wrapped herself in a towel and crept to the top of the stairs. Below, Rafa was pacing, his fists clenched, his face a mess of tears and fury. In his hand, crumpled, was a letter.

Her rebellion was quiet. She stopped coming to community dinners. She ate in her room, door just barely ajar. She stopped saying "good morning" and instead just nodded. Her mother would find her in the dark, staring at the ceiling. lias big stepfamily

Lia knew the exact weight of a thing unsaid. It was the heft of her mother’s second wedding ring, a simple platinum band that sat on the kitchen counter each night, next to a glass of water and a bottle of sleeping pills. It was the silence in the car after her mother would say, “They’re not replacing your father, sweetheart. They’re just… more.” She wrapped herself in a towel and crept

Shouts. Rafa's voice, raw and cracked. Then Mateo's, lower, urgent. Her rebellion was quiet

When Marco and her mother came home an hour later, they found the three of them on the stairs, not talking, but breathing the same air. Marco looked at Lia, then at Rafa, and something in his tired eyes cracked open. He didn't ask questions. He just lowered himself onto the step below Rafa and rested a heavy hand on his knee.