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i'm sorry for all the notifications but us writers work hard on these chapters. i know i ask this a lot, but i really don't like ghost readers because i work super hard on these chapters so when i see views going up but votes are not... its hard for my motivation!

Mila stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, her eyes locked onto the scene unfolding before her. The living room felt like a foreign space, everything distorted in the haze of shock and disbelief. There, standing in the doorway, was her mother, Katherine.

Katherine-out of jail.

Mila's heartbeat quickened as the reality of it hit her. It had been years since she'd seen her mother. The memories of when Katherine was in prison were still fresh in her mind. The years of waiting for some kind of change, some sort of miracle, and now here she was-standing in her living room, alive, and free.

Katherine was talking to George, Mila's dad, and Natasha, her stepmom. Natasha stood by the door, quiet, her expression unreadable. George was on the couch, clearly caught between his emotions-trying to be neutral but visibly tense. The room was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words, but for Mila, it was suffocating.

Before she could process it all, Marisol slammed the front door shut, leaving a jarring silence in her wake. Marisol's reaction was loud, sharp-her older sister didn't know how to deal with their mother's sudden reappearance, and neither did Mila.

Katherine stood, slowly, cautiously. Her eyes, always too full of emotion, locked onto Mila. The room seemed to quiet around her as Katherine's gaze softened, her lips trembling slightly. There was hesitation in her steps as she moved toward Mila, as though she wasn't entirely sure what to do next.

"Mila," Katherine's voice was tentative, almost fragile, as if she feared that any wrong move would break everything. "I... I missed you."

Mila couldn't bring herself to respond. Her body stiffened. She didn't know what to do, how to act. It felt like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Was she supposed to be happy? Angry? Relieved? She didn't know what the right emotion was.

Katherine took another step toward her, reaching out her arms, wanting to hold her. Wanting to comfort her. The hug that followed felt so unnatural, like it wasn't supposed to happen-not like this. Katherine's arms wrapped around Mila, and for a split second, the warmth of her mom's body was all too familiar. But Mila didn't return the embrace. She stood rigid, her hands at her sides, unsure and unwilling to let herself feel anything.

Katherine pulled back slightly, her eyes searching Mila's face for any sign of recognition, any indication that her daughter would soften. But Mila didn't budge. Instead, she looked past Katherine, her eyes scanning the room. She saw Natasha standing awkwardly by the door, her hands clasped in front of her, trying not to intrude on the moment, but her presence didn't go unnoticed. Natasha met Mila's gaze, but didn't say anything.

Mila's throat tightened, and she felt a lump rise in her chest. Why is she here? The question echoed through her mind, growing louder with each passing second. Why now?

Finally, Mila found her voice, barely above a whisper, but cutting through the tension that had wrapped around her like a vice. "Why are you here?" she asked, her words sharp, though trembling slightly. "How-how did you get out?"

Katherine hesitated, looking down as if she had to gather herself before answering. The silence between them was so heavy, so thick, that it felt suffocating. "I got out on good behavior," Katherine said softly, almost like she was explaining something she knew would be hard to hear. "There was overcrowding in the prison. They let me go early."

Mila's eyes widened. Good behavior? Overcrowding? Was that supposed to make sense to her? How could she just... walk out? How could everything be so easy for her?

A knot tightened in Mila's stomach. Her mother had been gone for so long. She had taken so much from their family. And now-now she just shows up like it's nothing?

The words surged inside her, fighting to be said. She couldn't stop them. She wouldn't stop them.

"You kidnapped me," Mila spat, her voice rough, filled with the rage that had built up over years of waiting for an answer. "You kidnapped me and Marisol! You took us away from everything, from our lives, and you ruined everything. And now you think you can just waltz back in like it's all fine? Like nothing ever happened?"

Katherine's face fell, the weight of her daughter's words hitting her like a physical blow. The lines of guilt deepened around her eyes, and for the first time, Mila saw her mother crack. Katherine didn't say anything for a moment, just stood there, struggling for words.

"Honey," Katherine said, her voice shaking with emotion. "Please... I'm trying to get better. I'm on medication now. I have a job. I have a place to live. I'm doing everything I can to fix this."

The words fell flat, and Mila couldn't stop the fury that bubbled up inside her. Medication? A job? A place to live? None of it could make up for what she'd done. None of it could erase the past. Her mother had taken them from their lives. She had shattered the family. No amount of trying could undo that.

"I don't care," Mila snapped, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "You think a job and some pills are going to make up for everything you did? You think that's enough? You deserve to rot in prison!"

Katherine winced as if each word hit her like a slap across the face. The sadness in her eyes deepened, but it didn't stop Mila. The words came faster now, unfiltered, angry.

"Do you know what you did to us?" Mila asked, her chest heaving with emotion. "You destroyed everything! You ruined me."

Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't care. She wasn't going to let Katherine see her break. Not now. Not ever.

Without another word, Mila turned and stormed out of the room. She didn't look back. She couldn't.

She sprinted up the stairs, her feet pounding against the wooden steps with each frantic stride. The door to her room slammed shut behind her, echoing in the stillness of the house.

Mila locked the door behind her with shaking hands, the sound of the lock clicking into place giving her a momentary sense of security. She staggered to the bed, her whole body shaking.

The world around her seemed to crash down.

She grabbed her headphones, shoved them into her ears, and cranked up the volume. The loud, heavy music filled her room, drowning out the sound of her tears. She buried her face in her pillow, letting the music wash over her, trying to bury the pain, trying to silence the agony that ripped through her chest.

The hurt. The rage. The betrayal.

Mila cried. She cried harder than she ever had before. The sound of her sobs mixed with the music, her body wracked with emotion, but no one was there to comfort her. No one was there to make it better.

For the first time in years, she felt completely alone.

Marisol walked through the front door, still shaken by the events that had unfolded. Her mind was racing, and she barely noticed the familiar scent of the house until she crossed the threshold. The hallway was silent-eerily so-and it took a moment for her to process that Katherine was no longer in the living room.

She paused in the doorway, her hand still on the knob, her breath shallow as she scanned the space. Was she gone already? Marisol thought, feeling a surge of relief mixed with frustration. She couldn't have just left, could she?

"Is she gone?" Marisol asked, her voice sharper than she intended as she looked directly at George, her father, sitting in the living room. He was leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on the television, but she could tell that the tension in the room hadn't dissipated.

George barely glanced up, but his face was tense, tight. "Your mother is gone," he said, his tone clipped. "I told you, I'd talk to her. She's on her way out."

Marisol's chest tightened, and she felt her jaw tighten in frustration. Of course she's gone... of course. She hadn't even been able to process everything before Katherine had disappeared. It was like nothing had changed.

Before she could speak, George's gaze sharpened, his eyes hardening. "Why'd you leave like that? You don't get to just storm out when things get tough, Marisol. You could've at least tried to listen to her, to hear her out. She's trying, Marisol. She's trying to fix things."

Marisol's blood boiled at her father's words. Her body stiffened, and a wild laugh-bitter and sharp-escaped her lips. She looked at George like he'd just sprouted another head.

"Listen to her?" Marisol spat, her voice incredulous. "You're seriously asking me to listen to her? The woman who kidnapped us and ruined our lives? You think after everything, I'm supposed to just sit down and hear her out? After everything?" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as her voice grew louder. "Dad, you've got to be kidding me."

George stood up abruptly, his face turning red with anger. "Don't you talk to me like that," he barked, his voice rising. "You don't get to disrespect me and-"

"Disrespect you?" Marisol interjected, her tone seething. "You're defending her! The same woman who's been in prison for what she did to us, and you're here talking about giving her another chance. Are you out of your mind, Dad? You think I'm just supposed to forget everything she did?"

George's face turned even darker, the anger flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth to retort, but Natasha's voice cut through the tension before he could.

"George, calm down," Natasha said softly, yet firmly, as she stepped in from the kitchen. Her Russian accent was thick, her words controlled and deliberate. She placed a hand on George's arm, urging him to sit down.

Marisol shot her a confused look. Natasha-her stepmother-was defending her? The same Natasha who always stood on George's side, quiet and reserved? Her brows furrowed, and she crossed her arms. "What is this? Are you actually defending me?"

Natasha nodded, her eyes steady. "You're upset, Marisol. You've been through a lot, and you don't have to forgive your mother. But you also don't need to let your father yell at you when he doesn't understand. This is hard for everyone."

George slammed his fist on the armrest of the couch, clearly upset. "So now you're taking her side? She's just a kid, Natasha. She has no idea what's best. She doesn't know what it's like to try to fix this."

Marisol's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Now Natasha was the one defending him? This was a weird turn of events. She stared at her dad, anger bubbling up again. "Oh my God, Dad. You're really blaming me for this now? You're the one who's acting like everything is fine because she's out of jail. And Natasha, you're just standing here, defending him? Like this is some... some normal situation?"

Natasha stepped back, her hand retreating from George's arm as she looked between the two of them. There was a calmness to her voice as she spoke, but it didn't soften the harshness of the words. "I'm not defending anyone, Marisol," Natasha replied. "I'm defending you having a moment to breathe. You've been through a lot, and this is your reaction. I understand. But George is also upset, and he's not seeing the bigger picture."

George exhaled sharply, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm trying to hold this family together, and all you two want to do is fight," he said, his voice strained. "I'm trying to understand Katherine. She's trying, and that's more than what either of you are doing right now."

Marisol stared at him in disbelief. She wanted to yell, scream at him to open his eyes, to see the reality of what was happening. But she couldn't. The words just weren't coming.

Instead, her shoulders slumped as she turned away, stepping back from the conversation. She felt a wave of exhaustion hit her all at once. The whirlwind of emotions from earlier-the anger, the frustration-was finally catching up to her. She just didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

Natasha glanced at George, her gaze filled with a quiet understanding. "George," she said softly, her accent still thick but gentle now, "give her some time. Give all of us some time. We'll figure this out, but pushing her won't make it better."

George opened his mouth to argue but then closed it, visibly deflating. After a long pause, he sighed and stood up. "I'm going to my room," he muttered, his voice tight. Without another word, he turned and walked up the stairs, the sound of his footsteps echoing throughout the quiet house.

Marisol watched him leave, the anger still simmering inside her. She wanted to follow him, demand that he see what she was going through, but she was too tired. Too drained.

Once George was gone, Natasha turned back to Marisol, her expression softening. "I know this is hard. You can be angry. But you have to let him see that. He doesn't understand."

Marisol gave a dry laugh, her anger deflating. "I don't know if I even want him to understand anymore."

Natasha nodded in understanding, her gaze lingering on Marisol. "I get that. But he's still your father. And maybe one day... maybe one day you'll see things differently."

Marisol shook her head, staring at the ground. She didn't want to think about that. She didn't know if she ever would.

"Thanks," she said quietly, glancing up at Natasha. "For... for stepping in."

Natasha gave a small, reassuring smile. "Of course. Just... take care of yourself, Marisol. You need it."

Marisol nodded, finally feeling the weight of everything settle into place. The house was still full of tension, but in this moment, at least Natasha had given her a space to breathe. Maybe things weren't perfect, but for now, she had to believe that eventually, things would somehow start to make sense again.

The rhythmic thudding of Mila's fists connecting with the punching bag echoed through the empty dojo, each hit driven by a mix of anger, pain, and frustration. She could feel her knuckles burn with every punch, but she didn't care. The anger inside her was bubbling over, threatening to consume her completely. Every swing, every strike, was a way to channel the rage she couldn't contain, the rage that had been building for weeks.

The heavy bag swung back and forth, absorbing her fury as Mila pushed herself harder and faster. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the frustration of everything she couldn't change-her mother, her family, the mess she found herself in-pouring out in each punch. She was lost in the rhythm of it, the sting in her hands almost forgotten as the bag swayed under her force.

"Mila?"

The sound of Anthony's voice cut through the haze of her anger, and she froze mid-punch. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know it was him. Her stomach twisted, and she felt the sudden weight of her emotions hit her all at once. She didn't want to talk about this. She didn't want to tell him, but the way he said her name-soft and concerned-made the walls she'd been holding up start to crumble.

Mila slowly turned around, wiping sweat from her brow, her breath still uneven as she faced Anthony. His brow was furrowed, worry clear in his eyes as he took in her disheveled appearance and the intensity of her workout.

"I knew I'd find you here," Anthony said with a small, understanding smile, but it quickly faded when he saw her expression. He stepped closer, his eyes scanning her, then the punching bag. "What's going on?"

Mila's gaze dropped to the floor. She couldn't meet his eyes-not right now. The walls she had worked so hard to keep up were starting to crack, and she didn't know if she could hold it together for much longer.

"It's... my mom," she said, her voice low, as though speaking her thoughts out loud made them more real. "She's out... she's out of jail."

Anthony's face immediately fell, his concern deepening. He stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder gently, urging her to look at him. "What do you mean, she's out? I thought she was in for... for kidnapping you and Marisol."

"She was," Mila whispered, her voice shaking. She took a deep breath, trying to hold herself together, but it was impossible. She could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes, threatening to spill. "I don't know how. I don't know what happened. She just... she got out on good behavior, overcrowding. And now she's... she's here. She's back. Like nothing's happened. Like she didn't tear our lives apart."

Anthony's hand tightened on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing comforting circles. "Mila, I... I don't know what to say. I know how much this messes with your head."

"Yeah, well," Mila choked out, her hands trembling at her sides, "nothing's been the same since she... since she left us. And now she's back, acting like everything's fine, like she's... like she's fixed. And I'm supposed to just... accept it?"

Anthony's expression softened, the concern turning into something deeper-something protective. "You don't have to accept anything you're not ready for, Mila," he said quietly. "But you don't have to carry this alone either."

Mila finally looked up at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She tried to hold back the flood, but it was no use. The dam finally broke, and she let the tears fall. She stepped away from him, unable to hold herself up anymore, and sank down onto the sparring deck, her knees pulling up to her chest.

"I can't... I can't deal with this," she whispered through a sob. "It's like she just waltzes back in, and I'm supposed to... what? Pretend everything's okay? Pretend she didn't leave me? I-" Her voice cracked as her body shook with the weight of it all. "I just want her to go away. I want things to go back to how they were before. When I didn't have to... I didn't have to worry about her coming back and ruining everything again."

Anthony dropped to his knees beside her, not saying a word, but his presence was enough. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, as if he could absorb the pain she was feeling. Mila leaned into him, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. She didn't want to burden him with her problems, but in this moment, she needed him more than ever.

"I'm so angry, Anthony," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. "So angry, and I don't know how to fix it."

"You don't have to fix it," he said softly, his hand stroking her hair. "I'm here. Whatever you need, whatever you're feeling, I'll be here. You're not alone."

Mila closed her eyes, letting herself break down completely in his arms. The tears came in waves, each sob racking her body with the weight of her emotions. She had spent so much time pretending she was fine, convincing herself that she didn't need anyone, that she could handle everything. But in that moment, with Anthony holding her and the truth spilling out, she realized that she didn't have to carry this weight on her own.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself feel the release of everything she had kept bottled up inside.

ASH SPEAKS!!!

okay well... filler chapters are done. we are almost done with this book :(

3 or 4 chapters left til the end 🤧

PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!!!!!!!
COMMENT AND VOTE. IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:) STOP BEING A GHOST READER

STOP BEING A GHOST READER AND PLEASE VOTE!!

STOP BEING A GHOST READER!!
i'm sorry for all the notifications but us writers work hard on these chapters. i know i ask this a lot, but i really don't like ghost readers because i work super hard on these chapters so when i see views going up but votes are not... its hard for my motivation!