The house was alive with noise.

Not the gentle hum of a dishwasher or the low murmur of a television, but voices — sharp, heated, colliding against the walls until the air itself felt like it was splitting.

"You're blind, Elaine!" Dylan's voice thundered from the kitchen. "Completely blind. Your kid is a grown adult, and you're still letting them freeload in this house like a child. It's pathetic."

Elaine Carter's arms were folded tight across her chest, though the gesture offered no protection. Her fingernails dug crescents into her sleeves as if she could hold herself together by force. She stood stiff in the doorway, caught between his fury and her own silence. "Dylan, please… don't say it like that. They are not a freeloader. They're my child. My only child. I can't just—"

"You can," Dylan spat, cutting her down. "You just won't. You hide behind excuses. Years wasted because you're too weak to admit they're dragging you down. God, Elaine, you've built your whole life around coddling someone who refuses to grow up."

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her throat felt dry, strangled by words that couldn't escape.

The front door clicked shut. Keys rattled. Shoes scuffed against the entryway.

Dylan's head snapped toward the sound. His eyes darkened, and a smile crept slow across his face, cold and deliberate. "Perfect. They're here."

Elaine turned sharply, her breath catching. "Dylan—don't," she whispered, though her voice barely rose above the hum of the refrigerator.

But he was already moving.

With the force of a storm, Dylan crossed the hall, yanked open the closet, and dragged out a suitcase. He didn't even glance back at her. His strides carried him straight to the door, where you stood, frozen in the frame, the cool night air still clinging to your clothes.

The suitcase hit the floor at your feet with a violent crack, the sound bouncing off the walls like a gunshot.

"Pack your stuff," Dylan ordered, his voice low and sharp. "You're done here. You're not a child anymore. You're an adult. So act like one. Get out."

Elaine flinched as though the sound had struck her, too. She stepped forward, hand half-lifted, then dropped uselessly back to her side. "Dylan, please, don't do this—"

"Don't do this?" Dylan whirled on her, his eyes alight with anger. He stepped closer until his shadow swallowed hers. "Don't do what, Elaine? Don't tell the truth? Don't force you to admit what you already know? That they don't belong here anymore. That it's time."

His tone dropped, softer but crueler, cutting beneath the skin. "Unless you'd rather pick them over me."

Elaine's chest tightened, air seizing in her lungs. She blinked, her vision blurring with the threat of tears. "Don't put it like that," she whispered.

"No, I will put it like that," Dylan pressed, his voice pressing against her like a hand around her throat. "Do you love me, Elaine? Do you?"

The words crashed against her like waves, leaving her stranded. Of course she loved him—she thought she did. But love wasn't supposed to feel like this: like standing at a cliff's edge, watching everything crumble beneath her feet.

Her silence stretched, heavy, dangerous. Dylan leaned closer, eyes searching hers, daring her. "Well?"

"Yes," she whispered, the word pulled out of her like a confession.

His smirk flickered. He turned back toward you, his hand gesturing toward the suitcase on the floor. "Then prove it. Stand with me. Tell them it's time to go."

Elaine's lips trembled. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her breath breaking against the air. Her thoughts screamed—Say no. Say they stay. Say nothing will ever make me turn against my child.

But Dylan's eyes pinned her, his challenge cutting sharper than any blade.

The hallway was silent except for the pounding of her heart.

Elaine looked up—first at him, then at you standing in the doorway, frozen in place.

Her lips parted.

"I—I…" The sound cracked, fragile as glass.

It wasn't a defense. It wasn't a refusal. It wasn't anything at all.

Dylan's smirk widened, triumph glinting in his eyes. "Exactly."

The suitcase lay open at your feet, gaping like a wound.

Elaine's silence filled the house, and in it, the truth was unmistakable. My baby I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…