"You broke me like a promise."
Willa
𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

"Hello, Mum and Mum Number Two!" I announce as I step into the Wests' house, dropping my bag onto the floor with an unceremonious thud. The house feels cold, and lonely, the suit envelopes me and I shiver.

"Hello, Willa, honey," Gracie calls from the kitchen.

"Hello, princess," Mum chimes in, offering me a soft smile over her coffee cup.

I hop onto the barstool next to her, resting my elbows on the counter. Mum's sipping her coffee, Gracie is putting something in the oven, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly normal.

"How was school?" Gracie asks, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Good. Same old, same old." I swallow past the dryness in my throat. If same old, same old includes tracking her son to the back of the school despite my own warnings, then yeah—totally normal.

Mum tilts her head at me, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Where's your other half?"

"Alex has cheer practice." I sigh dramatically, slumping over the counter. "She abandoned me. Cold. Alone. Destitute."

Gracie laughs. "Poor thing."

"That reminds me, don't you have ballet this evening?" Mum asks.

"Alec and Roman are dropping me. They have hockey at the same time." I hop off the barstool and make a beeline for the fridge, rummaging through its contents.

There's a pause behind me, a loaded one. I peek over my shoulder just in time to catch the glance Mum and Gracie share, all hushed concern.

Gracie clears her throat. "Uh, honey, would you happen to know where Dom is?"

My spine stiffens.

"He hasn't answered any of my calls," she continues, carefully avoiding eye contact. "And his dad is coming home today."

I blink, fingers tightening around the fridge handle.

Right. That.

I know why he's not home.

Everyone in this kitchen knows why he's not home.

Everyone knows that he's probably high as a kite right now in some abandoned park.

Dom and his dad have never been on good terms.

He used to tell me that when we were ten, curled up under the willow tree in his backyard, whispering secrets into the grass. I remember the way his voice would drop, quiet and bitter, when he talked about his dad. How he never felt like he was enough for him. How he always felt like a failure in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried.

"No," I say finally. "Sorry."

Gracie lets out a quiet sigh, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I just—I just wish he'd come home."

"He will," Mum reassures her, squeezing her hand.

Gracie nods, but she doesn't look convinced.

A new tension settles over the kitchen, heavier than before. I shift my weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling like an intruder in a conversation I don't want to be part of.

Gracie turns to Mum. "Lizzie, can I talk to you for a second?"

Mum nods and stands, pressing a kiss to my temple before following Gracie out of the room.

I stay seated at the counter, fiddling with a spoon. The house feels too quiet now. Too heavy.

Then, out of nowhere—

"Why can't things just be okay?"

I glance up to find Gracie standing in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes are glossy, her bottom lip wobbly.

"Logan and Dom—they used to be fine. We all used to be fine."

I exhale slowly, standing up and moving toward her. "Gracie..."

She shakes her head, shoulders tense. "I hate it. I hate all of it." Her voice cracks, and before I can say another word, she turns on her heel and bolts out of the house.

I curse under my breath.

Mum, who must have heard the commotion, rushes back into the kitchen. "What happened?"

"She ran off," I say, already moving toward the door.

Mum sighs, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. "I'll go check on her."

I nod, watching as she hurries after Gracie.

With a heavy breath, I step outside.

Standing on the porch, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the Wests' house with a deep frown is my dad.

I pause, rolling my shoulders back before stepping up beside him. "Y'know, usually people knock when they're visiting a neighbor's house. Not just glare at it."

Dad's lips twitch slightly, but his expression remains unreadable. "Didn't know he was back."

Liar.

I snort. "Please. You knew the second he stepped foot on this street."

Dad doesn't argue. Just keeps staring.

I follow his gaze, eyeing the house across the lawn. "Are you mad?"

"No."

"Sure. You just like staring at houses menacingly for fun."

Dad exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. "I just didn't expect it."

I rock back on my heels. "Yeah, well, neither did I."

I kick at a loose pebble on the ground. "Do you think Logan's a good person?"

Dad's brow furrows slightly at the abrupt subject change, but he nods. "Yeah. I do."

Something in me twists.

I cross my arms. "Then why doesn't he show up for Dom?"

Dad's jaw tightens.

Bingo.

I don't even mean to sound confrontational, but it comes out sharp anyway. Because seriously. If Logan's such a good guy, then where the hell has he been?

"Life isn't simple, Willa," Dad says after a moment. "People make mistakes. And sometimes... sometimes they don't know how to fix them."

I scoff. "Sounds like an excuse."

Dad glances at me, something like fond exasperation in his eyes. "You always see things in colour."

I wrinkle my nose. "Is that your weirdly profound way of saying I'm dramatic?"

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No. It means you see things brightly. Loudly. You don't just notice what's in front of you, you feel it."

I purse my lips. "Huh. Thought you were gonna say something about how I see the world as black and white, but this works too."

He sighs. "Not everything is as simple as you want it to be."

"Maybe not," I mutter. "But if Logan really cared, he wouldn't be gone so often."

Dad doesn't answer right away. He just watches me carefully, like he's waiting to see how much further I'll push.

And I could push further. I want to.

But I don't.

Because deep down, I don't know if I actually want the answer.

Instead, I cross my arms tighter over my chest and change the subject. "Uncle Carson hates Dominic, y'know."

Dad sighs. "Willa—"

"No, like, actually. He thinks he's not good for me."

Dad doesn't say anything.

Which, in and of itself, says everything.

I gasp, clutching my chest dramatically. "Oh my god. You agree."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't not say it either!" I gape at him. "Wow. Betrayed by my own father."

Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. "It's not about me liking or disliking him. It's about what's good for you."

I roll my eyes. "Right. Because I can't possibly be trusted to make that decision for myself."

"Willa."

"Dad."

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't want you getting hurt."

I blink.

For a second, something flickers in his expression—something I can't quite place.

Soft. Sad. Worried.

It makes my stomach twist.

I nudge his arm, trying to lighten the mood. "You do know I'm basically indestructible, right? I've survived eighteen years of sheer, unhinged chaos."

Dad shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "I don't know how I survived eighteen years of you."

I gasp. "Wow. Rude."

He chuckles, but his eyes drift back to the Wests' house, the lightness fading.

I follow his gaze, my own smile dimming.

The house still looks cold. Lonely.

A house full of ghosts.

And I can't help but wonder—

If Dom is one of them.

The sound of a car pulling up steals my attention.

Alec.

Saved by the honk of his Jeep.

I grab my bag, casting one last glance at Dad. "Are we done brooding now?"

His lips twitch. "Go to ballet, Willa."

I grin, throwing him a salute before skipping off toward Alec's car.

But even as I buckle in, I can't shake the feeling in my chest.

Something's shifting.

And I don't know if I'm ready for it.

𓇼𓇼𓇼𓇼

guys I'm sorry this isn't a long chapter I'm just sick at the moment and have been feeling super sore😒😒😒

also I get a lot of questions asking for tips on writing books, so I'm going to give you my top three!

1) Write out a plot summary of what is going to happen in each chapter, so you know how the book is going to end!

2) Don't ever give up on writing! If you really love writing your readers will see your joy, it doesn't matter if you have a small number or not!

3) lastly, this is most important to me. You need to love your characters. My characters are my children and I put my soul into writing them so that I can portray them perfectly to you guys!