Mia's hand trembled as it hung in the air between them, her fingers stretching toward him, desperate to bridge the growing distance. Alex's sudden release of her hand felt like a physical blow. Her breath caught, and a sharp sting shot through her chest—like her heart had been ripped out and left behind in the space between them. The coldness of the air was a cruel reminder that she was losing him, and her body shook with fear. The ache in her chest spread, suffocating her.
What was happening? Why was he pulling away?
Her mind raced with thoughts she couldn't process fast enough, and before she knew it, her hand was reaching for him again. Instinctively, she sought the warmth of his touch, trying to fill the emptiness that had suddenly opened between them. But her fingers only brushed his briefly, the contact fleeting and weak, as if she, too, was already fading.
Her grip faltered. It wasn't the same as before—strong, sure, holding on as if she could never let go. This time, her hand was trembling, barely able to grasp his. Weakness, exhaustion, hunger—she hadn't eaten in days, her body a shadow of its former self. Her soft skin quivered under the strain, and she could feel every tremor race through her limbs. Her body was failing her, just like everything else in her life.
Alex's gaze darkened. His eyes, usually so calm and steady, flickered with something Mia couldn't read. It was pain, but not just pain. It was guilt, maybe, or something far worse: resignation. He didn't pull away immediately, but his face tightened, his jaw clenching. His eyes flicked down to their joined hands, as if he were struggling to comprehend the situation, the depth of the decision he was about to make.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Mia's heart raced in her chest, her entire being pleading for him not to let go. But he did.
His hand slid from hers, and the loss hit her like a wave crashing into the shore—relentless and merciless. A tear slipped down his cheek as he turned away, the sunlight from the window catching the angle of his face, highlighting the raw emotion there. Mia couldn't breathe.
"No, Alex," she whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with fear and longing. "Don't go. Please… I want to eat." She wasn't just asking for food—she was asking for him. She wanted him to stay. She needed him to stay.
Alex didn't answer right away. His eyes met hers, but there was something in them—something that told her he was breaking inside. His fingers twitched as though he wanted to reach for her again but couldn't. The silence between them stretched, and Mia could see the weight of the world in his gaze, a silent storm of emotions too complicated for words.
A soft sob escaped her lips before she could stop it, and the sound seemed to echo through the room. But Alex's resolve never wavered. His face, set and determined, spoke volumes in that one fleeting moment. He was leaving, and no amount of pleading or tears would change it. The finality in his gaze was like a door slamming shut, trapping her in a place she couldn't follow.
Mia's breath hitched. Her chest tightened painfully, the anger inside her beginning to bubble over. How could he do this? Why wasn't he fighting for her?
Her legs felt weak, her body trembling as she tried to push herself up. Her hands gripped the edge of the chair, her knuckles white, but her vision blurred, and she felt as if the floor beneath her were slipping away. She couldn't fight anymore. The anger, the frustration—it all felt useless now. She had nothing left to give.
"Alex... why?" The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them. Her voice was low, raw, like a wound that had been torn open. "What do you mean? Why are you doing this?"
She could feel the tears threatening to spill, but she refused to let them fall. Her body was shaking, betraying her, but she fought against it. She was so angry, so confused. She wanted to yell, to scream at him for abandoning her like this. But she couldn't. Her body wouldn't let her fight back. She had no strength left.
"I don't want this," Mia whispered to herself, a quiet admission of helplessness. She sank back into the chair, defeated. She couldn't move. She couldn't fight. Her body, her mind—it was all too much.
Alex's steps were slow as he turned away, his movements stiff with the weight of his decision. Mia wanted to scream for him to stop, to take her in his arms and promise that this wasn't the end. But she couldn't. She was too weak, too lost in the tangled mess of emotions to say anything more.
Alex's voice finally broke the silence, and it was nothing like the strong, confident tone she was used to. There was something raw in his words, something vulnerable that made her chest ache even more. "Take care of her," he said, looking at Jake, who had been standing quietly by the table, watching the exchange with silent intensity. His gaze met Jake's, not with anger, but with a kind of quiet plea.
Mia's eyes didn't leave Alex's face. Her heart broke into a thousand pieces as she whispered, "Why? Why are you doing this, Alex?"
But he didn't answer. His eyes were already focused elsewhere, his back turned to her as he walked toward Jake, each step heavier than the last. The room seemed to grow colder, quieter. Mia's breath came in short, ragged bursts as she collapsed back into the chair, the weight of everything sinking down around her.
Alex was leaving.
And there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Mia's hands trembled as she leaned forward, gripping the edge of the dinner table. Her face twisted in a mixture of anger and disbelief, the emotions churning inside her like a storm she couldn't control. Her heart pounded in her chest, the aching weight of it almost suffocating. The room around her seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as she fought to contain the bitterness rising inside.
"You want to go, right? Go, Alex, go." Her voice cracked as she spat the words at him, a sharp mixture of rage and sadness that felt like it was tearing her apart. The words, though harsh, didn't feel like her own—they were the product of the ache inside her, the emptiness that was slowly consuming her. She didn't know what was worse: the fact that he was leaving or that he seemed so willing to walk away.
Alex stood across the room, silent, unmoving. His posture was stiff, his feet planted firmly on the floor as though he were physically trying to hold himself together. His gaze was lowered, his face unreadable, as if he was avoiding her eyes—avoiding the weight of what was happening between them. The distance between them, both physical and emotional, was palpable. It hurt more than she could have imagined.
The tension was thick, suffocating, when suddenly—the sharp clink of a cup hitting the floor shattered the silence.
Everyone in the room froze, eyes snapping toward the source of the noise.
Inspector John stood at the far end of the table, his face twisted in irritation as he stared down at the shattered cup at his feet. The sudden movement and sound caught everyone's attention, breaking the suffocating silence.
Jake was the first to speak, his voice strained and tight, the tension between him and Alex still hanging in the air like a thick fog. "So what's going on?" His question was quiet, almost measured, as if he was trying to make sense of the strange atmosphere. His eyes flicked between Alex and John, searching for an explanation.
John's eyes narrowed in response, his jaw clenched in frustration. He took a deep breath, his face hardening as he shot a quick, almost contemptuous glance at both Alex and Jake. "Oh, this?" he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Sorry, it slipped."
John's gaze turned to them both, sharp and piercing. "But you two," he continued, his tone turning more threatening, "you'll slip right through my fingers if you don't stop." His eyes flicked between them with a quiet fury that seemed to cut through the air. It was clear that his patience was wearing thin.
Mia, still sitting at the table, barely registered the tension in the air. Her hands were clenched so tightly on the table that her knuckles were white, her mind too overwhelmed to process anything except the ache that had settled in her chest. The words John spoke barely seemed to reach her. But the way he continued, his tone growing sharper, grabbed her attention.
"She's just woken up," John snapped, his voice rising slightly, "and rather than feeding her, you're busy stressing her out." He leveled a cold stare at Alex and Jake, his words hanging in the air like a warning. "You're both making this worse."
For a moment, the room fell into another thick silence, only the faint sound of their breathing breaking the stillness. Jake shifted uncomfortably, clearly taken aback by the sudden outburst. His gaze flicked toward Alex, who still hadn't moved, still hadn't said a word. The tension was unbearable.
Mia's head snapped up at the mention of her name, her heart pounding, the weight of John's words slowly sinking in. She hadn't even realized how much the silence between her and Alex had affected her until now. Was this really how it had come to this? She had always known that life wasn't easy, that relationships took effort. But this—this cold distance, this unbearable silence—was something else entirely.
She wanted to scream, to tell them all that she wasn't some fragile thing to be handled with care, that she wasn't some victim in need of protection. But her body betrayed her. The words wouldn't come. Instead, she could only sit there, her breath shallow, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of everything. Why was Alex standing there, so silent, so distant?
Alex's eyes flickered briefly to Mia, but he didn't speak. His mouth was set in a hard line, his jaw tense as though every word he could say was caught in his throat. His eyes were dark, unreadable—and for the first time in a long time, Mia realized that she no longer recognized him.
The room was suffocating now. The table, with its untouched plates of food, felt like a cruel reminder of how everything had gone wrong. The warmth of the dishes did nothing to ease the coldness between them.
Mia's breath caught in her throat, and she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. The ache inside her grew, spreading deeper, until she could barely breathe.
John cleared his throat, breaking the silence, though it didn't feel like a resolution. "Enough of this." His voice was firmer now, though still edged with impatience. "Someone needs to take care of her. You," he pointed at Alex, "aren't doing anything but standing there looking like a statue. And you," he said, his gaze turning to Jake, "don't seem to have the guts to step up."
John's words stung, even though they were partially true. Mia wanted to argue with him, to tell him to leave, to tell him he didn't understand. But she couldn't find her voice. She just sat there, frozen, the words caught in her chest. She didn't want to feel this way. She didn't want to be the one who needed help, the one who had to rely on others. But it felt like the whole world was slipping away from her.
Alex, still motionless, stared at the floor, not acknowledging John, not acknowledging anyone. His silence was the loudest thing in the room.
Uncle Timmy didn't believe it at first—that the two loving birds he left behind were now distant, their bond unraveling before his very eyes. He'd always thought love could withstand anything, but now, as the silence between Mia and Alex stretched on, it felt like a cruel joke.
Alex stormed into the room, his jaw tight with frustration. He grabbed an apple from the counter, the motion sharp, like he was trying to break something, anything, with his hands. He didn't even look at Mia as he walked toward Jake, who was busy helping him gather things, his focus elsewhere.
Mia, still seated at the table, watched them, her face tightening with cold fury. She had been waiting—waiting for Alex to come to his senses, for some sign that he wasn't about to leave her, but there it was, clear as day. He was walking out of her life.
Her voice cracked through the air, sharp with disbelief. "What? How did he know?" she murmured, staring at Alex with a mix of confusion and hurt. Her eyes darted around, searching for any explanation, but none came. "What's going on?"
Alex turned toward her then, his lips pulling back in an expression that wasn't quite a smile—more like a sneer. "I hate apples," he said, his voice a bitter rasp. "You don't know me at all, Mia. Not anymore."
Her eyes narrowed, and something inside her snapped. Her hands clenched into fists, and for a moment, she didn't recognize herself. "No," she hissed, pushing herself to her feet, her body trembling with rage. "I hate you—for leaving me, for pretending you care when all you do is hurt me. You don't get to act like you know me, like you ever did! Don't you dare try to make this about apples!"
Her words hit him like a slap, but Alex didn't flinch. Instead, he turned his back, ready to walk out.
Mia's voice grew louder, sharper, as though she were tearing through the walls of the room. "Leave if you want to, but don't you dare show up with that fake concern of yours, pretending to care after everything we've been through!" Her hands flew to her hips, her chest heaving with the force of her words.
"Leave. Now!" she screamed.
The sound of her voice broke the stillness, loud enough to wake Nawe, who had been curled up under a blanket, deep in sleep. Nawe jolted awake, her eyes wide and confused. She dashed out of her room and into the dining area, her feet stumbling over the floor as she tried to make sense of the chaos.
As she entered the room, Nawe's gaze snapped to Alex, his back turned, the door halfway open. The hurt on his face was palpable, but it was nothing compared to the devastation radiating from Mia. Nawe's heart clenched as she turned to see Mia, sitting at the table, her breakfast untouched—just a mess of half-eaten food and scattered crumbs. Mia's hands were trembling as she shoveled food into her mouth with an almost frantic energy, her eyes wild, like she was trying to swallow her grief whole.
Mia's face was twisted in a strange mix of anger and sadness, tears welling up in her eyes but not quite falling. Instead, she kept murmuring, as if saying it over and over would make it true. "I'm okay. I'm fine," she mumbled through clenched teeth, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.
But Nawe could see through it—the shaky breath, the tightness in her chest, the raw, open wound that Mia was trying so desperately to hide behind a mask of anger.
"I can help myself," Mia said, her voice rising in pitch, almost childish now, as if she were trying to convince herself. "I don't need anyone. I don't need your pity