THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS.
The nurse hesitated before speaking. Her voice trembled like it might break if she said it too loud.
"…She's gone."
The fluorescent lights above him buzzed faintly, too bright, too cold. The words echoed through his skull. Soft, but merciless. Something inside him twisted.
Gone? No. That's not right. I just spoke to her. Just sat beside her bed.
The world tilted, but only for him.
"Do you… need to call someone?" she asked, her tone careful
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Her lips were still moving, but her voice was already fading to him. Drowned by the hum of her words in his head.
Everything sounded far away. His feet moved on their own. Each step felt heavier. Like the world didn't care he'd just lost someone he loved.
"Mom's gone...? How could she die after saying that? Did she ever... love me?"
Out the doors. Past the corridor, into the cold again. It was like the city had no idea what just happened. Cars honked as streetlights flickered. People laughed, talked, argued. The world moved forward. And he was stuck.
He stared at the ring. It shimmered faintly in the low light. Just a glint, a flicker thin as dust. No one else seemed to notice. His hands didn't move. They just stayed at his sides, cold and still, while his body walked without him.
They brushed past him like wind. He crossed the road without looking. A horn blared as the car swerved. Tires screeched against the asphalt.
"Watch where you're going, idiot!"
He didn't even flinch. The driver's voice was gone before it reached him.
Home smelled like dust and silence. He shut the door behind him — soft, deliberate. Took his shoes off, dropped his bag. No greeting. No warmth. The gift box still sat open on the table. He brushed past it and went to his room.
Some minutes passed. Maybe hours. Then the sound of keys. The door opened again.
His father. Richard.
His father stepped inside, taller than most, adjusting his glasses with a tired hand. His dark hair, almost the same shade as Damon's, was messy from a long shift. His green eyes looked dull behind the lenses.
"Hey… Happy birthday, kiddo," the man said.
No reply.
"You got the ring, right?"
Silence.
"Something wrong? You look—"
"Mom's… gone."
"Yeah I know she went for her—"
"She's dead."
The man froze. For a moment, he looked like a statue. "That's not funny," he said. "She's having her surgery tod—"
"She's dead! I called you over and over! I even texted you! Even the hospital called you! I told you, we should have put her in the same one you worked at! You didn't listen! You never listen!" Damon snapped.
The man opened his phone and saw a couple of missed calls and texts. But he saw the ultimate text and his eyes widened while his heart clenched.
The words hit like shattering glass. His father's breath caught and he covered his mouth with a shaking hand, breath breaking in his throat.
His knees hit the floor, and he stared blankly ahead. Nothing came out — no words, no tears. He stood, quietly, and walked upstairs.
Damon followed with his eyes. The only sound left was the creak of the steps, then the bedroom door closing. That night, the house felt colder than usual. The table downstairs was still empty. The hum of the fridge filled the air like static.
Shatter. Thud. Slam.
He went to check the source of these noises. Staring through a gap in the door.
Lamp, cracked. Files everywhere, a mess-just like everything else. His dad yelled. Crash went his mother's vase.
Damon didn't move. Didn't breathe. He just watched, numb.
He showered. Brushed his teeth. Didn't eat and didn't sleep. Instead, tears soaked his pillow. His cries muffled into it, like it was the only thing he could turn to. The fabric grew damp beneath his cheek, warm against his cold skin.
Each time he thought of the happy times with his mother, the thought of her last words followed. Like dark paint over sweet memories.
The next morning came and went. Damon's father stood at his door while Damon stayed in his bed like it was the safest place. His father's tie was loose, his eyes hollow.
"You should go to school," he said quietly. "It's what she'd want."
Damon almost laughed, bitterly. She wouldn't have wanted me at all. He thought. But he just nodded and left.
The world was busy again. The wind was gentle and the sky grey. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, chasing whatever warmth he could find. One strap of his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. Uniform untucked, tie crooked.
He looked good. The black uniform still fit his frame perfectly, but the person inside it seemed to have shrunk.
In class, voices blurred. Teachers talked. Pens scratched, but he didn't hear a word.
"Vale!" the teacher called. "Answer the question."
He blinked. Didn't even know what subject it was. The teacher's voice sounded like he'd heard it while underwater, distant and warped.
"Are you even listening?"
He stared at the chalkboard, then at his reflection in the window. The ring looked normal again. Still. Silent. Innocent.
He raised his hand. "Can I be excused?"
Natsuki who sat beside him noticed the dark in his eyes, the way he moved his body, his presence yet also his absence.
The bathroom mirror reflected a ghost. Eyes red. Not tears, more like exhaustion. He sat in the stall, knees pulled in, silent. Every second stretched, like watching a pendulum clock in slow motion.
After school, the corridors emptied. He grabbed his bag, slipped outside, and sat beneath the red-leafed tree.
Natsuki found him there.
She stopped a few steps away, noticing the slump in his shoulders. "What's wrong, D? You were more than zoned out in class today. You didn't answer my texts either." she said softly.
He didn't move. Just sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground beneath him.
"What happened?"
He looked up at her slowly. "She's gone."
"Who's—" Her breath hitched. "Your mom…?"
He nodded once. A tear dropped down his face. A slight break in his voice. Yet still hollow.
She sat beside him. Eyes wet. Hands trembling. When she hugged him, he didn't hug her back. Didn't even blink.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
He waited a few seconds, then said quietly after wiping his face, "I have to go home."
"Let me walk with you," she offered.
He shook his head. "No need."
The tone was flat. Empty. The faintest hint of something darker beneath it. He opened the door to see his father at the table. His tie was off, with an arm wrapped in a bandage. Empty bottles lined the counter.
His father looked up slowly. "This is your fault," he said quietly.
Damon froze. "What?"
"You know where her cancer came from...? You. Your cells stayed in her and—" His father opened his mouth, then stopped. His voice came out lower, slower.
Damon knew what he meant. That made it worse.
"Her body… turned against her because of you."
The words hit harder than the blow that followed. He didn't hit back. Didn't even speak. Just stared at the floor. The sting burned colder than pain.
There was a long silence. The room went still. His father's breathing grew uneven, his hand twitching at his side.
"YOU. KILLED. HER." Each word matched the beating that followed. The slap cracked through the room, sharp and hollow.
Damon's head turned slightly from the force. He didn't react otherwise. No step back. No retaliation. And then, only the shimmer. Soft and blue from the ring on his hand.
When the room finally stopped shaking around him, the house settled into a heavy silence, and in that silence, his feet found the stairs.
Before climbing the steps, he paused. Tears fell one by one, though his face stayed empty. He glanced at his father. He was drunk, distant and somewhere far from here.
He walked upstairs, face expressionless. He closed the door and sat on his chair in the darkness. The ring's light pulsed faintly against the wall. Once. Twice.
He remembered the sting of the slap. The ring reacted.
The ring trembled. A low hum rose from it — faint at first… then steady.
Blue light seeped out between his fingers, followed by white. His reflection flickered in the dark monitor.
"What the fu—"