To our lovely kids,

You are probably wondering what's going on, why we left the house without informing anyone. Everything we did was for the best. We can't keep pretending to be a perfect family when we are far from perfect. We can't get you kids involved in our cracked-up life. You kids deserve good parents. Sorry to inform you kids, but we got divorced last month.

Kim's heart skipped a beat, and she cut in before Dean could get any further.

"Wait, what?" Her voice cracked, and she could hear Dean's chair scrape back as he jumped in his seat.

"Are you making that part up?"

Dean pointed to the word divorce, his finger steady, like he was trying to keep her from losing it. "It's right here. Have a look."

She leaned closer, staring at the word, willing it to change, but it didn't. It stayed.

"They. Got. Divorced?" she repeated, her voice hard as she clenched her fists. The shock was turning into anger, but she wasn't sure at what—at them for leaving, or at herself for not knowing something this big was going on right under her nose.

Dean instinctively pushed his chair back, a few inches away from her, like he didn't want to be anywhere near the storm brewing inside her.

"Sorry, Kim. Finish it up. Dude, it's getting interesting," Hugo called from the kitchen, oblivious to the tornado swirling in the dining room.

Kim could barely breathe. Divorce? Her parents, divorced? She didn't know how to react. It felt like a punch in the gut, and all she could do was stare at the letter.

Dean glanced at her but didn't say anything. He started reading again, his voice dropping to a whisper as he continued:

We can't do this anymore. We are really sorry. It's just not working for us, and you kids are not safe with us. Kim, they are your responsibility now. Please forgive us for doing this, putting you all up for adoption didn't seem like a good idea. Take care of your younger siblings. We left enough money for your expenses, and we will keep sending.

You can take a part-time job, it would help because we don't know how much we will be sending. Sorry that it has to be this way. We trust you, Kim, and know we love you kids so much.

Mom and Dad

Dean folded the letter with an exaggerated flourish, like he was reading out the finale of some bad drama. His expression was a mix of disbelief and sympathy, like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Wow," Hugo said from the kitchen, his voice full of the kind of surprise that you only hear from someone who hasn't been punched in the gut by the world.

Kim's chest felt tight, her breaths shallow. She couldn't focus on anything but the words. "They left us?" The question came out in a whisper, but it felt like it could shatter the walls of the room.

Dean, watching her closely, nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's like they just... gave up."

Kim didn't know what to do with that. How was she supposed to process that? Her parents were gone, and they had left her in charge. Not just of herself, but of everything.

And just like that, it hit her harder than anything else: she was really alone now.

"Love? They call this love?" Kim muttered, her voice low, almost a growl. The words left her lips with a humorless laugh that didn't reach her eyes. She shook her head in disbelief, running a hand through her messy hair.

"How on earth am I supposed to take care of three stubborn boys, especially a two-year-old?!" Her voice cracked on the last word, the reality of it sinking in like a weight on her chest.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "We can help," he mumbled, but his words hung awkwardly in the air, not really offering any comfort.

Kim shot him a look, but there was no bite to it, just exhaustion. "Is this a joke? Is this some sick prank? I can't be the one to handle this. I'm still trying to figure out my own mess."

Dean glanced at Hugo, who was silent in the kitchen, his usual smirk gone. Neither of them had ever seen Kim like this before. Not the careless, reckless Kim who laughed at everything. Not the girl who shrugged off responsibility like it was a bad habit. No, this was something new. Something raw. Something terrifying.

"I don't think it's a prank," Dean said, more to himself than anyone else. "They're too old for that."

Kim's voice trembled, despite her best efforts to keep it steady. "How is this even possible? How could they just... leave us? This isn't some minor screw-up. I can't—I can't do this, Dean. They're insane."

The tears that had been threatening all morning were now on the edge of breaking through. Kim blinked hard, trying to push them back, but Dean saw them—felt the weight of them in the room. Kim wasn't someone who cried, at least not in front of others. And certainly not about this. Yet, there it was. The pain she'd been trying to outrun was catching up with her.

Dean shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "Wait... Does this mean both of your parents were having an affair outside their marriage?"

Kim's laugh was brittle, almost as if the words burned her tongue. "I noticed it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn't want to believe it." Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she looked down at the letter again, like she was trying to make sense of it, to rewrite the words in her head.

"The weekend getaways. The leaving us with Sandra every time. The fights. The late-night outings. I thought they were going to therapy. But this... this is what they decided?" She laughed again, but it was hollow, devoid of the usual sarcasm. "Wow. Just... wow."

"You think they both decided to move in with they people they were having affair with?" Dean asked casually.

"Shut up bro! You're not helping," Hugo glared at him.

"They can't just abandon us like we mean nothing," she added, her voice rising, cracking. She stood up suddenly, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. She began pacing back and forth, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if she needed to hold onto something before she fell apart.

Dean glanced at Hugo, his own discomfort written on his face. They both knew Kim could handle almost anything thrown her way. But this? This was different.

"Yeah, that's cruel," Dean muttered, not sure what else to say.

"And selfish," Hugo added, his voice distant, though the anger was there. The anger that came from watching Kim unravel in real time.

Kim stopped pacing, her gaze darting between them, then down to the kids. She rubbed her forehead, trying to make sense of the chaos around her. "I can't even take care of myself," she said, her voice small now, like she was talking to herself. She let out a deep breath, exhaling like the weight of the world was on her chest.

"Wait, there's got to be a mistake," she said suddenly, as if the words were an anchor pulling her back from the abyss. "Give me the letter," she demanded, snatching it from Dean's hand before he could stop her.

She read it again, faster this time, her eyes scanning the lines, hoping for something—anything—that would make it untrue.

"Maybe it's a prank," she mumbled, her voice a little more frantic now. "Maybe they're just messing with us. They can't just leave, can they?" Her words were more to herself than to anyone else, like she was trying to convince herself of something that felt impossible. "Right, guys?" Her eyes locked onto Dean's, desperate, searching for a shred of hope.

Dean didn't say anything at first. He just looked at her—looked at the girl who used to brush off responsibility with a grin and a joke, the girl who never let anyone see her cracks. And now, here she was, fighting the collapse of everything she'd ever known. His heart went out to her, but he had nothing to offer. Nothing that would make any of this easier.

"No!" She snapped, the force of it surprising both of them. "It can't be real. Look at this mess. Look at them." She pointed at the kids, who were still sitting in front of the TV, too absorbed in their game to notice what was happening. "They argue, they whine, they fight... but we didn't care as long as someone cooked for us, cleaned up the house, did our laundry, kept the lights and heat on. But now?" She stopped in her tracks, suddenly still. She looked at Dean, and he quickly pretended to be busy, focusing intently on something he wasn't even holding.

"But now it's on me," she said quietly, almost to herself. "I don't even know how to feed them, how to change Liam, how to keep them from killing each other. I don't know how to do any of this." Her voice cracked at the end, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "How did I get here?"

Dean looked at Hugo, who had just walked back into the room, carrying five china plates like he was ready to serve dinner. He had no idea what to say, and clearly, Hugo didn't either.

"You're not helping," Kim said, rolling her eyes as she turned away from him.

Hugo blinked, confused. "I didn't know things were this bad," he muttered, before quickly retreating back to the kitchen.

Kim exhaled, letting the frustration bubble over. She buried her face in her hands, and for a long moment, neither Dean nor Hugo said anything.

"My life is over," she whispered, the words like a weight she couldn't shake.

Dean stood up, unsure what to do, how to fix this. He walked over and placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. "You'll be fine, Kim."

But Kim shook her head, not lifting her face from her palms. "Don't lie to me," she whispered back, her voice thick with the weight of everything she was trying to hold inside.

Dean felt a pang in his chest, something heavier than he'd ever expected. "Sorry," he said softly, the words barely making it past his lips.

She didn't respond. She didn't need to. The truth was in the room with them now—heavy, suffocating, unyielding.

And neither of them knew what to do next.

                                                               ((...)) ((...))

Everyone devoured Hugo's steaming hot ramen, slurping the noodles with that eager, blissful look of people who knew they were eating something damn good. Everyone, that is, except Kim. She sat at the end of the table, spoon still swirling aimlessly in her soup, staring into the bowl like it was some kind of cosmic puzzle she couldn't solve.

Hugo's ramen was legendary. His family owned a small Mexican restaurant, and after years of watching his mother master the art of spice and heat, he'd somehow perfected the ramen recipe too. It was a rare, comforting kind of food that made everything feel almost... normal. Almost.

But Kim wasn't hungry. Not for ramen. Not for anything.

She wanted to cry. The kind of tears that would leave her gasping for air, tears that would take the sting out of everything. But she wouldn't. Not now, not here, not with them. She wasn't the type to show weakness. She wasn't the type to let anyone see her crack. It was easier to pretend she was fine, even when every nerve in her body screamed otherwise.

Her eyes flicked across the room, first to the twins. Their faces were glued to the giant TV, their hands wrapped around game controllers, totally oblivious to the chaos around them. Typical.

Then, her gaze shifted to Dean and Hugo, who were sitting at the kitchen counter, their eyes squinting at a YouTube video on how to change a diaper. Kim couldn't help but snort, even though it came out as a dry, bitter sound.

"Are we getting it?" Dean asked, holding up a diaper with all the confidence of a guy who had just conquered Mount Everest.

"Kind of," Hugo replied, not convinced. They both looked at Liam, who was happily kicking his legs and giggling, completely unaware that they were fumbling their way through parenthood with the help of a 3-minute tutorial.

Kim wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw the bowl of soup across the room. But all she did was sit there, feeling the weight of it all.

She stood up abruptly, pushing her chair back so hard it scraped across the floor, making everyone look up at her.

"I lost my appetite," she said, her voice flat, as if saying it aloud made it more real. She didn't even wait for them to respond. She walked past them, her heart pounding, a lump in her throat.

"Kim..." Dean's voice trailed after her, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Not now.

The moment her feet hit the stairs, the floodgates opened. Tears spilled over, hot and fast, soaking her cheeks. She didn't care anymore. She couldn't hold it in.

"I can't do it!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she slammed the door to her room behind her, the sound echoing in the empty house.

Her body trembled with the force of it, every sob ripping through her, and for the first time that day, she felt like she wasn't pretending anymore. But it didn't help. There was no relief. Only the terrifying, sinking realization that her life had just changed forever, and she wasn't ready for any of it.

She was supposed to take care of them. Her parents were gone, and now she was responsible for a toddler, two hyperactive twins, and the weight of their future. How was she supposed to keep it together when she could barely keep herself from falling apart?

But there was no one to answer. No one to fix it. Just Kim, alone in her room, drowning in the mess she never asked for.

Kim lay on her bed, her body curled tightly around her pillow as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Tears streaked down her face, soaking the fabric, but she didn't care. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. Not for this long, not with this kind of weight behind it. Maybe it was the sting of her parents' sudden, cold departure—or maybe it was the suffocating, terrifying realization that now, she was the one who had to keep the pieces of her family from falling apart. But either way, the floodgates had opened, and she was drowning in it.

The knock on the door came like an interruption to her grief, followed by the familiar sound of the handle being tested. A voice, tentative and full of concern, broke through the fog of her thoughts.

"Kim?" Dean's voice was soft, but still laced with worry.

"I'm fine." She tried to sound convincing, but the crack in her voice betrayed her. She couldn't hide the pain, not even from him.

"Are you okay?" Hugo asked from the other side, his voice quiet but insistent.

"Yeah, why not?" she snapped back, immediately regretting the sharpness. She hated that she couldn't just push the hurt away.

"Then open the door," Dean called, his voice firm now, a little more demanding. He tried the handle again, but she locked it—just another small barrier between herself and the world outside.

"I wanna be alone," she muttered, her voice raw.

"Kim, we—" Dean began, but she cut him off, her frustration bubbling up.

"I said I wanna be alone!" she barked, louder than she meant to, and instantly regretted it.

There was a brief silence before Hugo spoke, his voice softer, more hesitant.

"Well, uh... we got the kids to sleep," he said, as if that could somehow fix everything. "Liam's out cold, don't worry about him."

"Your dinner's still downstairs if you're hungry," Dean added, his tone more neutral now, but Kim could hear the worry hanging in the air like an unspoken question.

They waited. She didn't answer, couldn't answer. Her heart felt heavy with the weight of everything she couldn't say.

"We also did a little cleanup," Hugo added, as if cleaning up the mess in the house might fix the mess in her life. It didn't, but it was an effort, and she could tell they were trying.

Kim sat up on the bed, wiping her tears away quickly, but her hands shook. She stared at the door as if it could offer her some kind of answer. There was so much she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. The silence between them pressed on her chest like a vice.

"Well, goodnight. We're leaving," Dean finally said, and she heard the resignation in his voice.

Kim scrambled off the bed, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket, trying to erase the last of the tears. But it was too late. The door opened just as they were about to turn away, and she stood there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She tried to look strong, tried to put on the tough face she wore like armor, but the tears still clung to her lashes, her eyes red and swollen.

"Do you need anything?" Hugo asked, his voice soft, as if he were afraid the wrong word might break her.

She shook her head, the motion almost imperceptible. "No."

"Thanks... for helping with the kids," she said, her voice rough, vulnerable in a way it had never been before. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and she felt small, the weight of everything too much to carry. For a moment, she felt like a child again, and it disgusted her. She wasn't supposed to be this person. But somehow, here she was.

"It's no big deal," Dean said with a half-smile, though the worry in his eyes didn't hide the concern. His hands were tucked into his pockets, and Kim couldn't help but envy the ease with which he wore his own skin. His caramel skin, his perfect curly hair—it was the kind of effortless beauty she could never quite pull off.

"Will you be okay?" Hugo asked after a beat, his voice careful, as though waiting for her to explode.

"No," she whispered. And the rawness in that one word made them both pause, taken aback by her honesty. She couldn't lie anymore, not to them. Not to herself.

"I can't do this, guys." The words came out in a rush, a confession, a surrender. "Why would they do this to us? To their own kids? It's like we don't even matter to them. Their lives... their lives are more important than us. It's like they just tossed us aside."

The anger inside her bubbled up, fierce and sharp, but it was laced with something darker—something like betrayal. She didn't even recognize the sound of her own voice.

Hugo, trying to lighten the mood, muttered, "I'll miss your mom's cookies too."

Kim shot him a dark look, but Dean rolled his eyes, clearly used to Hugo's awkward attempts at humor.

"Is the court aware of this? Maybe we should get the cops involved. I'm still a minor," she said, her voice full of bitterness.

"They'd call social services," Dean replied, his expression tight. His forest-green eyes were full of concern, his usually playful demeanor gone.

Dean's voice softened, but the words were unsettling. "My dad told me once about these kids who got taken away from their parents and put into foster care. They were split up, and one of them went missing. Another ended up in a coma from getting beaten by his foster dad." The thought sent a chill down Kim's spine.

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head, the thought of foster care too horrifying to entertain. "I don't want to go into foster care."

"Any relatives?" Hugo asked, leaning against the railing by the stairs.

Kim's shoulders sagged, the weight of the question sinking into her chest. "Both of my grandparents are dead. Aunt Gina... she hates my mom ever since she kissed her prom date in high school. They haven't spoken in years. She probably doesn't even know we exist. I've only seen her in a picture. Uncle Jake? He lives in a trailer. That's it."

"I heard trailers are cool," Hugo said, but Dean stepped on his foot, silencing him.

Kim didn't even react. She didn't have the energy to argue.

"Relax, Kim," Dean said, but his words didn't land.

"Relax?!" Kim's voice cracked as she exploded. "Dean, my parents secretly divorced and just took off, leaving me to take care of two lunatics and a freaking one-year-old?!" She started calm, but by the end, her voice was full of fury and disbelief.

Dean sighed, clearly trying to keep it together. "Look, why don't you go to bed? We'll figure this out tomorrow, okay?"

Kim nodded, not trusting herself to say more.

"We're here for you, okay?" Dean said, his smile soft and reassuring, though his worry never left his eyes. His easy confidence was a stark contrast to the mess she was drowning in.

Hugo stepped closer, extending his fist for a knuckle bump. Kim just stared at it, unsure of how to respond. After a moment, she met his fist with her own, the simple act of connection grounding her just a little.

"Get some sleep, okay?" Dean said, his voice low and steady.

"Do you know the recipe for the cookies?" Hugo asked, his tone light, trying to bring back some semblance of normality.

"Like she can tell the difference between an oven and a microwave," Dean teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Hey!" Kim shot him a glare, but she couldn't help but smile.

"Goodnight, Kim," Hugo said, turning to leave.

"Goodnight," Dean echoed, his voice a little softer now.

"Goodnight," she murmured, her eyes still lingering on them as they walked away.

She closed the door and leaned against it, the cool wood pressing against her forehead. She decided to check on the kids one last time, her heart aching with the weight of responsibility. They were asleep, peaceful, unaware of the storm brewing in their lives.

Kim walked back to her room, closed the door, and slid slowly down the frame, curling into herself as the tears came again. She hadn't thought it was possible to cry this much in a lifetime. But here she was, crying for the family that was slipping through her fingers. And she had no idea how to stop it.