The house felt heavy the next morning, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon. Rose's behavior was starting to affect everyone, and I could see the toll it was taking on Elise. She moved through the house in silence, her usual lightheartedness replaced by worry.
At breakfast, Rose strolled in late, her hair still damp from a quick shower, wearing an oversized hoodie and sunglasses—indoors. She dropped into a chair and wordlessly poured herself some coffee.
"You're not going to say good morning?" Elise asked, her voice edged with forced optimism.
"Good morning," Rose muttered, not looking up.
Elise sighed but didn't press further. I could tell she was trying to choose her battles, but it was clear that every little act of defiance from Rose cut her a little deeper.
That afternoon, Elise went out to run errands, leaving Rose and me alone in the house. The silence between us was palpable, broken only by the occasional sound of Rose's phone buzzing with notifications. I tried to focus on a book, but my curiosity kept pulling me back to her.
"What's going on with you, Rose?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.
She looked up from her phone, one eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"
"You've been here for weeks, but it feels like you're somewhere else entirely. You barely talk to your mom, and you avoid me like the plague."
Her lips curled into a smirk. "Maybe I just don't like small talk."
"This isn't small talk," I said, keeping my tone steady. "This is about family. You're shutting everyone out, and it's hurting your mom."
Rose's expression hardened. "Don't lecture me about family, Daniel. You don't know anything about mine."
I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Then tell me. Help me understand."
She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine as if trying to decide whether I was worth the effort. Then she stood up abruptly.
"I don't owe you an explanation," she said, her voice cold. "Stop pretending like you care."
And just like that, she was gone, retreating to her room and slamming the door behind her.
That night, Elise came home visibly exhausted. She dropped her shopping bags on the kitchen counter and collapsed onto a chair, rubbing her temples.
"She's still giving you a hard time, isn't she?" I asked, setting a glass of water in front of her.
"She's been like this since she was a teenager," Elise admitted. "Always so headstrong, always pushing people away. I thought… I hoped things would change once she moved back in."
"Maybe she just needs time," I said, though I wasn't sure I believed it.
Elise gave me a weary smile. "You're sweet to say that, but I know my daughter. She doesn't open up easily."
Around midnight, I was jolted awake by the sound of loud music blaring from Rose's room. I groaned, throwing off the covers and heading down the hall.
I knocked on her door, the bass from her speakers thumping in time with my irritation. "Rose! Turn it down!"
No response.
I knocked again, louder this time. "Rose!"
Finally, the door swung open, and there she was, looking defiant as ever. "What's your problem?" she asked, arms crossed.
"It's midnight," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "Some of us are trying to sleep."
She rolled her eyes but turned back into her room, lowering the volume slightly. I followed her inside, unable to stop myself from glancing around. Her room was a mess—clothes strewn everywhere, empty soda cans on the nightstand, and an open laptop displaying a half-written email.
"Is this what you do all night?" I asked, gesturing to the chaos.
"Why do you care?" she shot back, sitting on the edge of her bed and pulling out her phone.
"Because this isn't sustainable," I said. "You can't keep living like this, Rose. It's not healthy."
She looked up at me, her expression suddenly softer, almost vulnerable. "Why does it matter to you?"
"Because I care about your mom," I said. "And whether you like it or not, that means I care about you too."
For a moment, she didn't say anything. Then she looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her blanket.
"Look," I said, my tone gentler now. "If something's going on, you can talk to me. I'm not the enemy here."
She glanced at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn't quite place—fear, maybe, or anger. "You wouldn't understand," she whispered.
"Try me," I said.
But instead of answering, she stood up and walked to the door, holding it open. "Goodnight, Daniel."
I hesitated, unsure whether to push further. But something in her eyes told me that I wouldn't get any more out of her tonight. So I nodded and left, the door clicking shut behind me.
The next day, I woke up to find Rose gone. Her car wasn't in the driveway, and Elise hadn't seen her leave.
"She didn't say anything?" Elise asked, her worry evident.
"No," I said, shaking my head.
We spent the rest of the day waiting for her to come back, but as night fell, my unease grew. Where had she gone? And more importantly, what—or who—was she running from?