Mary's mornings felt quieter without Mark's presence. The once lively banter during breakfast was now replaced by the sound of clinking plates and occasional comments from her parents about their workloads. She missed Mark's goofy jokes and the way he always teased her about her meticulous school notes. Now, his empty chair seemed to echo her loneliness.
At school, Sophie's cheerful chatter tried to fill the void. "We should go to the park this weekend," Sophie suggested during lunch, her voice full of hope. "It'll be fun! Just the two of us."
Mary forced a smile, nodding. "Sure. That sounds great."
But she wasn't sure if she could handle it. Lately, everything felt overwhelming—her homework piling up, her parents' occasional remarks about her needing to "step up," and the ever-watchful eyes of her classmates. Mona's sneers from across the classroom didn't help either.
"Enjoying your little pity party, Mary?" Mona quipped as she walked past their table. Her words were laced with mockery, drawing laughter from her entourage.
Sophie glared at Mona. "Ignore her," she said firmly, squeezing Mary's hand.
But Mary couldn't. Mona's words clung to her like a shadow, whispering doubts she already felt.
That evening, Mary found herself in her room, staring at her textbooks. She couldn't focus. Her mind wandered, thoughts swirling with self-doubt. Her grades were slipping, and she could already hear her parents' disappointment.
Her gaze shifted to the sleeves of her cardigan. Slowly, she rolled them up, took a needle and pinged herself revealing scars along her forearms. She stared at them for a moment before tugging the sleeves back down quickly. No one could know. She started to self harm herself.
The days blurred into weeks. At school, she felt like she was running on empty. Mona's taunts continued, but it was the silence at home that hurt the most. Her parents seemed preoccupied, their attention elsewhere. The absence of Mark's presence only deepened the void.
One afternoon after class, Uncle John called her to his desk.
"Mary, can I have a word?" he asked gently, his kind eyes studying her carefully.
Mary nodded, her stomach twisting.
"Is everything okay? I've noticed you've been struggling lately. Your grades, your focus… this isn't like you."
"I'm fine," Mary said quickly, her voice a little too sharp. "Just… tired."
Uncle John didn't look convinced, but he didn't press further. "Alright. But remember, you can always talk to me if you need to."
As she walked home that day, Mary's thoughts raced. She wanted to believe Uncle John's words, but the idea of opening up terrified her. What if no one understood?
In her room that night, she opened her journal and began to write—her only outlet for the emotions she couldn't voice.